


Deal

by hearmerory



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Chloe Decker Needs A Hug, Demons, F/M, Hell Loops (Lucifer TV), Hell Trauma, Homesickness, Hurt Chloe Decker, Hurt Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Insecure Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Needs A Hug, Lucifer Returns From Hell, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Post-Season/Series 04, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Chloe Decker, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Short hiatus I’ll be back soon, Therapy, Wordcount: Over 150.000, not season 5 compliant, touch starved, updates on Fridays
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:22:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26653615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearmerory/pseuds/hearmerory
Summary: Chloe didn't spend five years being best friends with the Devil just to let him go back to Hell. But recovery?Relationships?These are not things Lucifer has ever found easy.In the weeks after Lucifer's return from Hell, he and the humans, angels and demons who surround him find out how long, hard and traumatic those roads can be.
Relationships: Amenadiel & Charlie Martin & Linda Martin & Mazikeen (Lucifer TV), Amenadiel & Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, Dan Espinoza & Lucifer Morningstar, Linda Martin & Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Mazikeen & Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Trixie Espinoza & Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 146
Kudos: 386





	1. Chloe Descending

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!
> 
> This is not season 5 compliant, and eventually features my own Michael.
> 
> Updates every Friday :)
> 
> Mature, but there are explicit scenes later. I'll mark those chapters.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You desire... you want me back?” His eyes were wide with bewilderment, and, if she searched for it, something she might call hope.
> 
> “Of course I do!” How could he ever have thought she didn’t?
> 
> There was a long moment of silence, where he didn’t move, not even to blink. She could practically see the gears turning confusedly in his mind.
> 
> “Then...” he broke the silence, his voice rough, “I will make every effort to fulfill your desire.”

Chloe hadn’t slept.

Her alarm blared into the silence of her bedroom and she rolled over, turning it off with a sigh. Slumping back down onto the bed, she let her mind slip back into the cloudy void it had been in all night.

Twenty nine days since Lucifer had gone back to Hell.

Twenty nine days since he had looked at her like she was the most important thing in the world, like his heart was breaking, like he was making the biggest sacrifice of his life for her.

Twenty nine days since she had felt anything except this aching, numbing sadness and the constricting band of guilt across her chest.

Her body was heavy. Everything was heavy.

It wasn’t until Trixie started calling her that she stood up.

“Mommy, it’s nearly time to go!” Trixie knocked on the door, “can I come in?”

“Yes,” Chloe said, her voice rough. Trixie opened the door a crack and popped her head around it, biting her lip a little.

“Hi,” she said quietly, her eyes roving up and down her mother, taking in her tired, disheveled appearance.

“Hi baby,” Chloe rubbed her face, dislodging sleep from her eyes, and tried a smile that came out as more of a grimace. Trixie let out a gust of air and bit her lip slightly harder. Slowly, she came to stand by the bed next to Chloe, her hand closing the gap between them but not touching.

“Do you want to shower today?” She sounded small, nervous. Like she had no idea how her mother would respond and was taking the risk anyway. Chloe’s eyes filled with unwanted tears.

“No, monkey,” she sniffed, “I’ll just take you to school, okay?”

“Will you eat breakfast? You went to bed before dinner...” Trixie looked away, and scuffed her foot against the carpet. Chloe looked at her for a moment, her brain slowly kicking in, moving out of the dark clouds and focusing on something. Something had been wrong with that sentence.

“I went to bed before dinner?” Chloe asked quietly, trying to work out why something in her brain was screaming at her.

“Y-yeah. You opened the draw full of my old drawings of Lu- of him. And you went to bed.”

“But... but...” and then it hit her, “but sweetheart, what did you eat?” Panic rose in her chest. She was failing. She was going to destroy everything.

“It’s okay,” Trixie’s eyes widened and stepped forward quickly to put her hand on Chloe’s arm, trying to ground her. “Please don’t cry again. There was left over pasta from the day before, because you didn’t eat then either, so I just microwaved it. It’s fine! I’m fine, I promise! Don’t cry.”

“I’m so sorry,” Chloe pulled Trixie to her and hugged her tight. “I’m so sorry.”

“Mom, I think you should shower, and go outside. You could visit Doctor Linda and Charlie? You haven’t seen them in while.” Trixie tensed a little in her arms, waiting for her response.

“I... you’re right, monkey, you’re right.” Chloe took in a deep, shuddering breath and squeezed her daughter tighter against her chest, feeling her little shoulder blades move as Trixie’s arms came up to stroke her back.

“Go shower now. We still have a few minutes before we’ll be late for school.”

When did she start sounding so grown up? When did she start trying to take care of her mother? Chloe closed her eyes for a second and landed a kiss on the top of her head.

“Okay, baby.”

“Good.” Trixie smiled broadly as she pulled away, hope clear in her dark eyes. She looked so much more like Lucifer than she did like Dan or Chloe. It was almost cruel.

Chloe watched her baby leave the room, heard her take the stairs two at a time, leaping down the last four with a thud. She ran a hand across her face again, swiping at the stray tears on her cheeks.

Twenty nine days. They hadn’t done Taco Tuesday, or Game Night or... really anything... since he’d left. And how... Chloe shook her head to clear the cobwebs... how had Trixie got to school yesterday? Had it even been Chloe’s day with her? She remembered picking her up and bringing her home, but she definitely hadn’t woken up before noon. She pulled her fingers through her messy hair and stumbled into the bathroom.

This was not good. This was hurting her daughter.

Why hadn’t Dan said anything? Chloe stripped and got into the shower, fighting back tears. Dan should have noticed, should have come to yell at her, or take Trixie for a while. She closed her eyes against the sting of shampoo as she quickly lathered it into slightly greasy hair.

Charlotte. Maybe Dan wasn’t doing any better than she was. Maybe they’d both been absent. Maybe Trixie had been drifting between two untethered parents for almost a whole month.

With a deep sigh, Chloe got out of the shower and went back to her room. She looked around at the clothes scattered over the floor, the empty candy wrappers, the stack of dirty dishes and apple cores on her vanity, and sighed. She needed to do better.

She picked out clothes that didn’t smell, and got dressed quickly before heading downstairs.

Trixie was at the breakfast bar with a bowl of cereal. Chloe was mildly surprised to recognize Raisin Bran with a banana chopped up over the top. When had Trixie graduated from Fruit Loops?

“Hi, Trixie babe,” Chloe planted a kiss on the top of her daughter’s head. Trixie looked up at her, wary hope clear in her chocolate eyes.

“I put a bagel in the toaster for you, it should be done in a minute,” Trixie smiled.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Chloe sniffed a little, and kissed her daughter again. She had to be better, now. “And you’re right. I haven’t been fair to you, and I need to do better. Lu- _he’s_ probably not coming back, at least not for a long time, and I need to work on feeling okay about it. I’ll go speak to Doctor Linda today, and see if she has some advice.”

“I’m proud of you,” Trixie said solemnly. Chloe blinked. When did her little monkey get so big?

* * *

Linda answered the door a minute or so after she knocked. She had the look Chloe remembered from when Trixie was a baby. Exhausted, happy, and overwhelmed.

Charlie slept in a sling around her back, his little head peaking over her shoulder.

“Chloe! It’s lovely to see you,” Linda greeted her warmly, kicking piles of junk to the side as she cleared a path for them down the stairs into the living room. “Humans are a bit of a rarity for me at the moment!”

“Hi, Linda,” Chloe said more sedately, glancing up at the bubble wrapped ceiling fan. “I was wondering... if we could talk.”

“Oh, of course,” Linda sounded a little surprised, but sat down in a comfortable looking arm chair, pulled Charlie’s sling around so he lay across her chest, and gestured Chloe towards the couch. Chloe sat down, feeling a little too much like a patient. For a moment, neither woman spoke. “What’s on your mind?”

“I... I just...” tears welled up in her eyes and she felt her throat constrict slightly. Linda’s expression shifted expertly from friend to therapist, warm professionalism coming off her in waves.

It was too much. First Trixie’s forced maturity. Then Linda’s immediate recognition that she was here for help, not just for a social call. Was it that obvious? Shame and embarrassment and irrevocable, unflinching sadness washed over her.

Suddenly, the damn broke, and all the horror and pain flooded over the broken barrier, crashing forcefully over her soul. Chloe felt herself burst into tears without conscious thought.

“I’ve been neglecting Trixie!” She buried her face in her hands, and her words came muffled and wailing. “I—I can’t sleep, I can’t wake up, I can’t eat. I didn’t make Trix dinner two nights in a row! I forgot to take her to school. Every time I blink, I see _him_ , and his fucking beautiful fucking angel wings, and he’s _looking_ at me with those _eyes_! What am I supposed to do until he comes back? What am I supposed to do if he _never_ comes back?”

Her voice broke, and her hitching breaths filled the quiet. They were silent for a moment, both women mourning their loss and trying to find words to make anything better.

“Is Trixie safe?” Linda addressed the practicalities first, and that was something Chloe had always admired in her.

“She’s at school,” Chloe sniffed, rubbing her face. “She’s been microwaving leftovers.”

Another wave of shame hit her chest. She was neglecting her daughter. Shoving her unceremoniously into the parent role, just as Chloe’s own mother had done to her. Chloe had a sudden flash of memory, back to standing in her childhood kitchen, tearfully struggling to open a jar of peanut butter because Penelope was too busy to make lunch for her. Had Trixie felt that lonely, that abandoned, as she’d microwaved day old pasta while her mother hid upstairs?

“Okay. That’s okay. I’m glad you came today. Asking for help is the hardest thing, and you’ve done that now.”

“I just feel so... lost? Like nothing’s anchoring me anymore. I don’t feel like... me.”

“You’re grieving,” Linda smiled sympathetically. “You lost someone very important to you. Lucifer, no matter his faults, took up a huge amount of space in your life. It’s no wonder you feel like he left a hole.”

Chloe dropped her head back into her hands. A year ago, there had barely been anything in her life not augmented by Lucifer. But that had changed, since Marcus. Now both of them were gone, she could see how much she’d pushed Lucifer out. There hadn’t been dinners, or game nights, or surprise visits to his penthouse when she could tell he was feeling off.

They’d been drifting apart the whole time she’d been dating Marcus. And then... she didn’t want to think about Rome.

“Did he...” she hesitated and dropped her voice to a whisper. She couldn’t muster anything louder. “Did he tell you he was going back?”

“No,” Linda sighed, “I didn’t see him after we got Charlie.”

“He didn’t want to go,” she trialed off, nausea swelling in her stomach, “he was always saying how much he hated it there.”

Linda nodded sadly. “No. I don’t think he wanted to go.”

“Isn’t there anything we can do?” Chloe almost wanted to shout at Linda’s calmness.

“One of the hardest things, for me, when dealing with all the celestial stuff, is remembering that I am still just human. No matter what we know, we don’t actually have any power to intervene.”

“There has to be something,” Chloe swiped the tears out of her eyes and set her face in stubbornness.

“As much as I desperately want to rescue my patient from what I can only assume is a re-traumatizing experience... I just... can’t,” she splayed her fingers hopelessly.

“What about Amenadiel?” Chloe grasped at the final hope she’d been clinging to.

“He doesn’t think his intrusion would be well received,” Linda snipped, clearly repeating his words, a slightly scornful lilt to her impression of his accent. Her face softened right after though, looking down at Charlie.

“I... I... that’s not good enough!” Chloe scrubbed at her face, anger surging up into the huge empty space in her heart where Lucifer had been.

“I know.”

Chloe whipped around at the sound of Amenadiel’s deep, measured voice as he came into the room. She didn’t know how long he’d been there, how long he had listened to her desperation.

“You’re his brother!” She accused, standing up to face him. Charlie stirred and started making little noises. Amenadiel winced.

“I spent thousands of years dragging him back down to Hell whenever he ran off,” Amenadiel said, the words heavy and leaden, “I really don’t think he would take me going down there well.”

“What about me? Take me down, let me speak to him!” Chloe’s hands were shaking. She didn’t know where the idea had come from, but it was suddenly vitally important. She couldn’t take another day of not knowing how he was. Not knowing if he was coming back.

“No,” he said firmly.

“Why _not_?” She yelled, waking Charlie fully. The baby started crying, and Linda rocked him gently, glaring at Amenadiel.

“Is there any reason why you shouldn’t take her?” Linda asked. Amenadiel recoiled slightly.

“Any reason why Lucifer might not want me to take his Detective down to the infernal realm? Oh, I don’t know Linda, maybe because _he doesn’t want her to go to Hell_?”

“He believes fully and completely in Free Will,” Linda pointed out, ignoring Amenadiel’s scowl, “if Chloe _desires_ a trip to Hell, just to visit, then he wouldn’t want you to stand in her way.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Amenadiel raised his voice a little to be heard over his wailing son.

“Amenadiel, please!” Chloe couldn’t stop the tears from flowing again. Even to herself, she sounded desperate, wounded, pleading.

Amenadiel seemed to crumple under the weight of the two women’s stares. He let out a loud, long suffering sigh. What was the world coming to, when humans could command angels with tears and glares?

“If I take you, you will have to swear you’ll come back when I come to get you. No hanging around. And you’ll have to respect his wishes. I won’t force him to speak to you if he doesn’t want to.”

“Yes,” Chloe would have agreed to go dressed in a polka dot ball gown if it got him to take her.

“He won’t like it,” Amenadiel warned them.

“Lucifer does all kinds of things he doesn’t like,” Linda said darkly, hoisting Charlie further up her shoulder, “this might at least be healthy.”

* * *

Lucifer dropped back on his throne with a thump, withdrawing his aching wings and leaning forward to rest his head in his hands. Just as he touched his face, however, he jerked away, remembering the damage as his fingers slicked over the stream of blood flowing down the left side of his head. Slowly, he prodded the gash above his eyebrow, wincing as the inflamed edges shifted under his touch.

He growled, the sound appearing deep in his chest, calling on the Hellfire. He should confiscate all the damned Hell forged weapons. Demons didn’t need to use them for their jobs, it was foolish to allow them access to the only weapons that could actually injure him.

He scoffed quietly at himself. He was already breaking up their gangs, forcing them to stay in Hell, and thoroughly thrashing them at every opportunity. Trying to take their knives would start an all out war. Again.

Lucifer shifted slightly, trying to sit more comfortably around his bruised ribs, his fingers probing at the matching bruises down his face. He had won the latest fight, breaking up a revolt in the small tribes to the north east, near the pits.

The Gates of Hell were chained shut again, though not sealed. Fighting had become rarer, and no one had tried to ride a soul to Earth since he had reclaimed his throne.

He shoved the back of his hand across his eye, trying to push the blood away, but more flowed down, and he winced at the pressure. The eye was almost entirely swollen shut, and the bruises, dark purple and bloody, extending from his eyebrow down to his jaw, curled around his chin in black tendrils.

For the thousandth time, he wished for Maze. She had always been the one to patch him up, in Hell and on Earth. She would have been able to stop the bleeding with one of her perfect lines of catgut stitches. She would have known which combination of Hell’s ash pastes would help with the bruising. She would have fucked him hard enough to stop it hurting. But she had stayed above, where she belonged. With Linda and the baby.

Lucifer wondered how long it had been, on Earth. It was always hard to tell. He wondered if the baby was a baby anymore. If he was walking, talking, at school, or if he was an old man, and everyone Lucifer knew was dead. He shuddered slightly at the thought. But maybe it would be easier, if there was no one there to love anymore.

Going back up would be selfish. Leaving Hell again could hurt his humans much more than he was hurting being apart from them. Even this was worth it, if it protected them.

Slowly, being careful of his cut, he lowered his head back down into his hands, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his thighs.

It hurt.

And he was alone. Completely, agonizingly, endlessly alone.

The utter silence of Hell was deafening, still hurting his ears after all the years.

He drifted slowly from dazed pain to wakefulness and back, his head throbbing with regret and guilt and desperation to _leave_. His eyes slid closed, and he allowed himself to imagine pitching forward, out of the throne, and forcing his wings not to open, and falling. It would be pointless. It would only hurt, and wouldn’t end anything.

But perhaps his destiny demanded that he fall.

* * *

The flash of light broke the dark ash clouds above Lucifer’s head, and he jumped practically out of his seat, whipping around to see what had caused it. Only an angel would make that light coming into Hell. Lucifer felt his back muscles tense in anticipation of pulling his wings forward, ready to fight.

As his eyes fell on the charcoal wings, the familiar face, and settled on the blonde woman in his brother’s arms, Lucifer was hit with a tidal wave of emotions he hadn’t allowed himself to feel since leaving her.

Right at the crest of the wave was rage.

“Get out!” He yelled up to Amenadiel, his throne quaking with the power of his voice as he let it fill with Hellfire. He felt the fire burning in his chest, dancing viciously with his anger and roaring down every nerve.

Amenadiel hovered a few feet above him, wings flapping gently and disturbing the ash clinging to Lucifer and his throne.

“How could you _bring_ her here?” He gritted his teeth hard enough to hurt his jaw, his fists clenching at his sides, ready for battle. As Chloe’s eyes widened in surprised betrayal, time slowed. Amenadiel didn’t speak, trying to give his brother a few seconds to get used to the idea.

Lucifer stared at his Detective. She looked the same as when he had left her. Dark bags smudged under her eyes, and her hair was lank and unbrushed, but she didn’t look older. In his mind, she practically glowed against the harsh, dark landscape surrounding them.

It wasn’t right. Something so perfect, so precious, shouldn’t be down here. She should never have set foot in this place. She should never have seen the tall obsidian columns, should never have heard the cavernously empty silence, should never have felt the bone numbing cold, never have breathed in the acidic, foul tasting air.

As he watched, anger and panic rising and twisting in his chest, ash settled in her hair. It was wrong, and repulsive, and he couldn’t let it happen. She did not deserve this. She did not deserve to breathe in the ashes, to cough on their choking dryness. Her lungs should not be allowed to fill with death and destruction, as his had.

Amenadiel allowed time to resume, and Chloe looked down at Lucifer like he’d slapped her.

“Take her back!”

“No, Luci. She needs to see you.”

“No! What she needs is to get out of here. How could you do this to her! How could you bring her _here_?” The throne shook again with the power of his deep, echoing voice. He hadn’t meant to call on the Hellfire in front of her, but he had barely spoken without its commanding power since coming down, and it was habit as much as need.

He heard demons scuttling away in terror down below.

“She needs to talk to you. You’ve been gone for weeks, and she’s barely eaten or slept.”

“She doesn’t belong here! She doesn’t belong anywhere _near_ here!” His voice broke in to almost hysteria, the fire dying out, his hands coming up to rake through his hair, fingernails opening the cut wider and forcing more blood out.

“I know,” Amenadiel said quietly, squeezing the detective slightly, “and I’ll take her back. She’s not here to stay. But she needs this. You need this.”

“No!” Tears, unbidden, unwanted, filled his eyes. “Take her back now!”

Ash settled thick in her hair, where it should never, never be, and he couldn’t breathe.

“Lucifer,” the detective spoke over Amenadiel, her voice soft and pleading. “Please. Let me stay, just for a while.”

And then he couldn’t refuse her. Couldn’t refuse the only thing he’d wanted in forever. Couldn't stand her _looking_ at him like that. Couldn’t watch her leave when he so desperately wanted her.

Ash fell on them all like some twisted version of snow.

He nodded once, the fight leaving him, and turned his body so he sat on one arm of the throne, leaving just enough space for his brother to lower her onto the other arm. Their knees almost touched, and he could feel the warmth coming off her, so different to demon heat.

“Pray for me, when you’re done,” Amenadiel clapped a hand over his brother’s shoulder, and Lucifer flinched violently, his lips curling up into a feral snarl, his eyes lighting red with Hellfire. Amenadiel looked away, sorrow clear in his eyes.

Chloe put a comforting hand on Lucifer’s knee, and he flinched again in the opposite direction, anger rising in his chest at their impertinence, at his incompetence.

If they had been demons, he would have killed them both already for _daring_ to touch him.

“Come as soon as you’re called, then,” Lucifer dismissed his brother, and he nodded, his wings lifting him easily away, the flash of light much smaller on the way out than on the way in.

Then they were alone. Chloe couldn’t seem to take her eyes off him, and he couldn’t seem to look up at her at all. Even though looking at her was all he had wanted for years. This was not how it was supposed to go.

In his best fantasies, he was supposed to emerge from Hell, eventually victorious, and go to her apartment, and they would kiss, and everything would be good, like in those stupid romance movies he’d been forced to watch.

In reality, he was supposed to never go back at all, to let her live her life in peace, away from him and all the darkness he brought with him. She was supposed to live a long, happy life, and go to the Silver City, where he could never follow.

It wasn’t supposed to be here, the worst place in the universe, with him bleeding and her worried. He wasn’t supposed to have yelled at her, or summoned the Hellfire, or flinched at her touch. Everything was wrong, and he hated it.

He realized suddenly that his eyes were still burning red, and closed them immediately, shame flooding through him. He couldn’t even control his own body.

“Does that hurt worse, now I’m here?” She asked quietly after a moment. Once he was sure his eyes were brown again, he opened them and reached up to touch the gash over his eyebrow, frowning.

“No. It appears my mortality glitch only works on Earth.”

“How did it happen?”

“Demons keep rebelling.” A half truth, but enough to satisfy her.

“Are you...”

“Am I what? Okay?” Lucifer scoffed and turned away, looking down over the side of the throne.

“Well, are you?”

“What do you think?” Lucifer’s nose wrinkled in angry disgust, and he wiped at his face with his forearm, which did very little to get rid of the blood. He heard the dismissal and the anger in his voice, and willed it to go away, so he could be the person he wanted to be for her, but his emotions and the landscape had firm hold on him. Hell tugged at his divinity, at his soul.

“You don’t look very okay to me,” she said gently, putting her other hand on his thigh, the two warm patches the nicest and most wonderful things he had felt in years, even though he accidentally flinched a little again. She didn’t remove her hands.

“You...” Lucifer cursed himself as his voice broke again. If the demons could see him now, he wouldn’t last another week as their King. Weak. On the verge of sobbing. Bleeding. Pathetic. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I needed to see if you were alright. It was eating at me. I... I’ve been having nightmares,” her face crumpled as she looked at him, and he didn’t look at her.

“Coming here isn’t going to fix that,” he snapped.

“Seeing you might,” she shot back. He blinked a few times, and she didn’t know if he was surprised, or angry, or clearing blood out of his eyes.

Her heart clenched as she studied his face. His stubble was longer than it had been, almost encroaching on beard territory. His hair was a little longer too, curling around his ears. Under the large, already mostly healed bruises on one side of his face, his every feature was tight, muscles popping in his jaw as he gritted his teeth, his eyes narrowed and resolutely focused on nothing.

He was dressed for battle, she realized belatedly. His long, thin torso was encased tightly in supple, black leather armor. The top portion wrapped snuggly around him, diagonal buckles strapping shoulder guards into place. Shiny leather scales twisted down his side, ending at the bottom of the garment, a little above his knees. A large hood hung behind his neck, seemingly attached to the tunic. Black leather pants with toughened sections at weak spots rounded out what looked to her a lot like a fantasy video game assassin’s outfit.

Inexplicably, he still wore his dress shoes with the red soles.

“Trust me, Lucifer, I can deal with... all of this,” she waved a hand around, encompassing their harsh surroundings. “Not seeing you... not knowing how you were... or if you were ever coming home... that’s much worse.”

“Nothing is worse than here,” he growled. She could feel the anger and sadness rolling off him in waves, and her heart broke.

“Then come home with me.”

“I... I _can’t,_ ” he hung his head, “I have to... I have to protect you all, and right now... the second I leave, they’ll launch more attacks on Earth. The Gates aren’t sealed. I haven’t figured out how to _do_ it.” He closed his eyes in defeat. He’d tried. Whenever he wasn’t... otherwise occupied, he’d dedicated his time to the Gates. But he didn’t know _how_. Nothing he’d attempted had stuck.

“I don’t care!” The words burst out of her, and he twitched away, screwing his eyes shut tighter. They sat without speaking for what could have been seconds or centuries.

Chloe felt the oppressive silence seeping into her soul, trying to quash the good there, seeking her happiness and love. She pushed up against it, marveling at how he had been here so long, and hadn’t let it crush him.

The landscape shimmered underneath them, time and space pulsating visibly, the strange blue glow with no obvious source the only light in the dark and the ash.

The air was heavy, acidic in a way Chloe’d never tasted before. It was like a cross between a particularly bad crime scene and a bomb site.

Slowly, Chloe reached out a hand and cupped the bruised side of his face. He wrenched his head away, eyes snapping open in shock, and she followed him, rubbing her thumb across his high cheekbone.

“Don’t...” he gasped out, his hands clenching into fists at his sides, his whole body tight with tension. She ignored him, gently caressing the black and purple mark under his eye, pushing the blood away.

“Is this... where you sit?” She asked softly, keeping her hand on his face and looking down at Hell. They were higher up than any skyscraper in LA, the chair sitting on a narrow obsidian column.

“Yes,” he muttered, his eye lids fluttering slightly.

“It’s a long way up,” she said lamely, “do you ever go down? Does anyone come up here?”

“Only an angel could get up here. I go down to fight.” Chloe’s heart sank even further. Her wonderful Lucifer, so full of energy and light, so desperate for contact and connection. Stuck up on this massive spire, alone in the dark silence, his only interaction consisting of bloody battles with demons. “There are state rooms in the palace,” he waved a hand towards the only recognizable building in the harsh landscape, “but there hasn’t been much cause for negotiation recently.”

“What about at night?”

“Hell doesn’t have day and night,” he said distantly, glancing up at the ash cloud above them.

They sat in slightly awkward silence for a few moments.

“Can I fix it? Your cut?” Chloe spoke into the quiet. Blood dripped steadily down his cheek.

“It will heal,” he shook his head a little, and she kept her hold on his jaw.

“Does it hurt?” She left the question open, letting him choose if he wanted to expand beyond the cuts and bruises marring his beautiful face. He turned his face to her and looked into her eyes for the first time. The dark brown irises seemed to gaze into her soul.

“This is Hell, darling. Pain is what we do here.”

Chloe winced internally at the accepting, apathetic note in his voice.

“Lucifer... please, come home with me. This isn’t good for you. This is madness.”

“Madness? We do that here too.” His face took on a blank look, his voice cold, and he moved away from her hand. She didn’t follow.

“Can’t anyone else do this? You could ask your siblings. You could take shifts,” she knew she sounded desperate, begging, but she didn’t care. For a second, his eyes lit red, and she saw the fire dancing around his pupils, burning out the warm brown.

“They won’t,” he said firmly. “They won’t come here.”

“Wait... none of them have visited? At all?” Shock flooded though her. “But... you’re here! You came back! You sacrificed—”

“They don’t care!” He roared, the Hellfire igniting his eyes, pulsing over his skin. “They never came before, and they’re not coming now!”

She leaned away from him, aware that there was nowhere to retreat, nowhere to go except to tumble miles to the ground.

“You don’t understand! This is _my_ punishment! None of them are going to come _rescue_ me from it! They’ve had plenty of time for that!”

“But you’re here willingly!”

“It doesn’t _matter_!” Hell echoed with the power of his voice, deep and cold, tinged with despair and panic.

“Of course it matters,” she said quietly, her heart pounding. This was the power she’d run, terrified, to Rome to escape.

“I doubt they even know yet, unless Amenadiel went up and told them,” he scoffed at the likelihood of that.

“Wait, what?” she frowned.

“How long has it been? On Earth?” He hated the edge of desperation in his voice.

“A month,” she frowned, “why?”

“Time runs slow in Hell,” he closed his eyes briefly, hoping she wouldn’t ask. It would only upset her, and she didn’t deserve that.

“How much slower? How long have you been here?” He could hear his own distress reflected back at him in her tone, and didn’t look at her.

“A couple of hundred years,” he murmured. She gaped at him, speechless.

“A couple... a couple of _hundred_!” She squeaked, “and you’ve been fighting, all that time?”

“It’s getting better,” he tried to pacify her, “as I said, the larger wars have died down.”

His attempt at pacification didn’t seem to have worked. There were tears threatening to spill down her cheeks as she reached for the bloody side of his face again, gently stroking under his swollen eye.

“This,” she whispered, gesturing to his face with her other hand, “is _better_?”

“Well... yes, Detective,” he frowned as the tears started to fall. “But we were talking about time. Not battle.”

“Time... yeah. It runs slower here than on Earth. But what does that have to do with your siblings?”

“It’s been a couple of hundred years here. A month or so on Earth. Which means it’s probably been about a day or two in Heaven, depending on Dad’s mood. And Hell’s mood. The Mortal Realm is the only one with constant time. Unless someone’s gone up and told them, they probably won’t know I’m here yet.”

“Do they know how huge the difference is?”

“I doubt it. It’s not like they’re popping back and forth,” he scowled, “and it’s almost impossible to tell anyway, it’s not as though it’s an exact conversion.”

“Lucifer, I’m so sorry,” she whispered. He jerked his head up to look at her properly, confusion creasing his forehead.

“What in Dad’s name are you sorry for?”

“That you’re stuck here. I know how much you don’t want to be here. And I wish that anyone in your stupid, messed up family was half as good as you, so that you didn’t have to do this alone.”

“Detective, why would they? I _am_ the Devil. I am the _King of Hell_. You should be sprinting as fast as you damn well can in the opposite bloody direction!” He leaned away from her again, self-hatred palpable in his tightly clenched muscles.

“I’m not scared of you, Lucifer. I want you to come home with me.”

“I told you I can’t!” He snapped.

“You’re the King of Hell!” She reminded him, in the exact same tone he had used. His mouth clicked shut. “I’m pretty sure you can do anything you put your mind to. I want you to come home.”

“We can’t always get what we want, Detective,” he said coldly.

“Then make it a favor,” she put her hands back on his knee. He looked up at that.

“A favor?” His breath caught in his throat, thawing out a little of his soul.

“Exactly! This is what I desire, Lucifer Morningstar. I want you to come home, with me. Blank check. Whatever IOU you want,” tears filled her eyes again as he looked at her with abject confusion.

“You desire... you want me back?” His eyes were wide with bewilderment, and, if she searched for it, something she might call hope.

“Of course I do!” How could he ever have thought she didn’t?

There was a long moment of silence, where he didn’t move, not even to blink. She could practically see the gears turning confusedly in his mind.

“Then...” he broke the silence, his voice rough, “I will make every effort to fulfill your desire.”

“Less than a month,” Chloe’s heart soared, and she leaned into his space, resting her forehead on his, their knees awkwardly crushed together, his blood smearing her skin. “I want you back in less than one Earth month.”

“Alright, Detective,” he breathed her air, warmer and less acidic than Hell’s, and felt his heart flutter like it hadn’t in centuries. “I will do my best.”

“Good. Then I’ll see you really soon, okay? Come straight to me, as soon as you can. _Please._ ”

“I... I... Deal.” His voice broke as he pressed his hands together in prayer.

“Deal,” she whispered.

They stayed like that, foreheads touching, until Amenadiel took her away.


	2. Lucifer Ascending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s going to be okay now,” she said quietly, “we’ll get you fixed up.” He didn’t respond, but his eyes seemed to have focused on her. He seemed to be seeing. “You came straight here?”
> 
> “To you,” he mumbled. “Deal.”
> 
> “Deal,” she rested her hand on his arm, and he cringed a little but didn’t retreat. His skin was cold.

Chloe felt him before she saw him.

She usually noticed when he walked into a room, and she usually wasn’t the only one, but this time she felt the wake of his presence snatch her attention much more strongly than ever before.

Her eyes flicked immediately away from the computer screen, where she was logging paperwork after a case, and found him. He was halfway up the stairs, where the side steps met in the middle, looking straight down at her.

Many of the officers still milling around after hours had stopped to look too. She couldn’t blame them.

His face was more beat up than it had been when she visited him in Hell almost a month before. His right arm hung limply at his side, and his clothes were filthy with blood and ash. He’d ditched his battle gear in exchange for the same dark suit he’d worn the day he’d left. Under the bruising and cuts on his face, he was deathly pale, staring almost unseeingly at her.

“Lucifer!”

Chloe heard the first shout from her left, and saw Ella barreling out of the lab and up the stairs. She leapt up the final few and threw her arms around his waist.

Before Chloe had time to even blink, Ella was on the floor, sitting on her butt and looking confused.

He had pushed her.

Chloe saw him take a halting step back, his hands raised as if ready to fight, his right arm not responding as well as the left.

There was silence as Ella scrambled to her feet, backing off slightly.

“Lucifer?” She reached out to touch him again and he jolted back, clenching his hands into fists, ready to defend himself.

Chloe stood up and approached the steps at almost a run.

“Back off guys, there’s nothing to see,” she announced authoritatively to the crowd. After a few seconds of murmured disagreement, they turned away, going back to their final little end-of-day tasks. “You okay, Ella?”

“Yeah I’m fine,” Ella bit her lip. “I don’t think he’s... responsive...”

They looked at Lucifer. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, fine tremors rippling through his muscles, still taut and prepared to fight.

“Lucifer?” Chloe reached for him and lay a hand on his bloody shirt. He flinched, but didn’t move to attack or retreat. He reeked of sulphur and rotten flesh and damp mold.

“Sealed the Gates,” he murmured, lowering his fists, eyes glinting in recognition as he met her concerned gaze. The tremors got faster and deeper, and his eyes seemed to focus on her for a second before sliding sideways again. His pupils were blown to different sizes, as clear a sign of concussion as the large bump on the side of his head, visible and bloody above his right ear.

A thrill of excitement and fear went through Chloe’s chest. If he had managed to seal Hell again, then he was back. For real.

“Let’s get you back to my place, okay?” She reached for his face and he jerked away. “Ella, can you go get Dan? We’re going to need help getting him to the car.”

“Sure, yeah,” Ella ran off down the stairs to search for the other detective, and Chloe stood with Lucifer, waiting.

“It’s going to be okay now,” she said quietly, “we’ll get you fixed up.” He didn’t respond, but his eyes seemed to have focused on her. He seemed to be seeing. “You came straight here?”

“To you,” he mumbled. “Deal.”

“Deal,” she rested her hand on his arm, and he cringed a little but didn’t retreat. His skin was cold.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Dan and Ella came up the stairs and Dan slammed his hand down on Lucifer’s shoulder in greeting.

Lucifer grabbed Dan’s hand and shoved him off with impossibly swift precision, a low growl coming from deep in his throat, barely human. Dan took a surprised step backwards and put his hands up in surrender.

“I don’t think we’re doing touching right now,” Chloe said quietly, putting out a hand to stay Dan’s next attempt. Dan’s face morphed from confusion to anger to concern and back. His eyes flicked disbelievingly over Lucifer’s haggard appearance and Chloe’s rigid posture.

“What the _hell_ is going on here, Chloe?” Dan frowned, stepping closer to her, slightly away from Lucifer. “He disappears for two months, and you wouldn’t talk about it. We’ve been running an investigation into over fifty deaths, all centered around him, and you wouldn’t tell me where he’d gone. And now he comes back looking like someone beat the living crap out of him, and your only response is ‘we’re not doing touching right now’?”

“This isn’t the place,” Chloe hissed.

“We’re the police, this is exactly the place! Either he’s a mass murderer and we need to arrest him right now, or the dude’s been kidnapped or something! Was it your psycho family? Your father?” Dan turned to Lucifer, who was barely breathing. He didn’t respond.

“Help me take him to my car. I’ll take him home.”

“He needs to go to either an interrogation room or a hospital! He has multiple visible head wounds, and I’m pretty sure that shoulder is dislocated.” Lucifer twitched his right arm as though he wanted to see if it would work, and grimaced with pain.

“Please, Dan, help me take him to the car,” Chloe was practically begging now, knowing how this looked. “I’ll explain, okay, I promise, but right now I need to take him home.”

“Fine. If he dies from an untreated concussion, I’m blaming you.” Dan approached Lucifer with his hands spread wide, unthreatening, and spoke in his gentle talking-to-victims voice. “Hey, man. We’re going to take you to Chloe’s, so we need to get you in the car. Can you walk with me?”

Lucifer stared at Dan with a blank, disoriented look on his face.

“How about I just put my arm under your shoulder and give you a hand?” Dan asked, reaching slowly for him. Lucifer backed away, the unearthly growl coming back in his throat. “Okay, okay, not that then.”

“Luce, how about you put your arm around Dan’s shoulders?” Ella suggested. “Easier to touch than be touched?” Lucifer surveyed her without speaking.

Slowly, he limped towards Dan, his eyes on Ella, and draped his arm around the other man’s shoulders, letting most of his weight settle there.

“Great,” Dan groaned, “how can you possibly be this heavy? And you absolutely stink, by the way.”

“I’m going to pull the car around, okay?” Chloe asked Lucifer as Dan hauled him along. He seemed to be drifting again, and allowed Dan to put his hand on his chest to hold him upright better. He didn’t respond, and Chloe hurried off to get the car.

Ella rushed ahead to open doors for them, biting her lip in worry for her friend.

Lucifer and Dan hobbled out of the precinct in bizarre, lurching movements. With each step, Lucifer’s head sank a little lower, his breathing becoming more labored, his damaged arm dangling more freely.

By the time they reached the main doors, Chloe’s car was waiting for them. Lucifer had gone almost completely limp, and Dan was seconds away from accidentally letting him topple face first onto the ground.

Dan ended up having to bodily shove the taller man into the passenger seat of the car.

“Chloe, this is _insane_!” Dan hissed through the passenger window, reaching over almost unconsciously to do Lucifer’s seat belt as he sagged sideways in his seat. “We need to call an ambulance! Get him to make a statement! Do a damned rape kit! Have you seen his wrists?”

Chloe grabbed the hand closest to her and pulled back the sleeve. His pale, thin wrist was circled with deep black bruising. Scabbed over abrasions topped the joint, which stuck out further than she remembered. Her stomach rolled.

“He’ll be okay,” she couldn’t quite keep the quiver out of her voice as she watched his head loll sideways onto his shoulder. He had started shivering.

“He’s not _okay,_ Chloe! Look at him! He’s not even wearing fucking _shoes_!” Chloe looked. He was filthy. He stank of acid and rot. His clothes were ripped and bloody. Dan was right, and his black socks were hard with mud and sweat. Her eyes filled with tears and she rubbed her wrist across her face.

“I’ll take care of him,” she said quietly.

“You call me, okay? The second your plan goes to shit, you realize you’re not a doctor, and you need to take him to the damned hospital, you let me know and I’ll come help.”

“Me too,” Ella piped up from behind them, almost bouncing with concerned tension, biting hard at the inside of her lip.

“I promise. But he’s going to be fine. I’ll fix him.” Chloe nodded at them both in firm thanks and dismissal, and pulled away from the station.

* * *

By the time they reached her apartment, Linda and Amenadiel were waiting for her. She’d prayed almost constantly the whole drive, narrating his injuries and begging his brother to come and help. Panic was rising in her chest the longer he didn’t move. Every bump they went over bounced his limp head, and he made no effort to stabilize himself, even though Chloe was almost certain he was conscious. His entire body was trembling with cold, his lips taking on a slightly blue tinge against his pale, bruised face.

She pulled up in the driveway and Amenadiel was there instantly, opening the passenger door and gathering Lucifer’s slack body into his arms.

He didn’t even stir or protest the sudden movement, his head hanging limply backwards, baring his long neck as Amenadiel held him under his shoulders and knees.

Chloe hurried ahead to unlock the door, her fingers shaking slightly as she fumbled with the keys.

“He came to the station?” Linda asked quickly as they went in ahead of the men, turning on lights and clearing a path to the couch.

“Yeah. He didn’t say much, he just kind of... stood there? He wouldn’t let anyone touch him.”

“He’s probably in shock,” Linda nodded, watching Amenadiel lay Lucifer down on the couch, his long legs spilling over one end, his arm dangling off to the side. The therapist wrinkled her nose as she caught a waft of the stench coming off him.

“So what do we do?” Chloe asked.

“I’ll need to pop the shoulder back in. Dislocations heal quickly, but only once the joint is realigned. The rest should start fixing itself in a few hours, if you leave.” Amenadiel knelt down beside the couch and took hold of Lucifer’s arm. With a sickening crunch, he shoved the shoulder back into place, and Lucifer let out a whimpering moan of pain, scrunching his eyes more tightly closed.

Amenadiel ran his hands over Lucifer’s torso, gently palpating. Lucifer tensed as the hands grazed the side of his rib cage, his breathing halting and starting in erratic patterns. He didn’t wake up.

“This isn’t good,” Amenadiel frowned, running his hands around smoothly, moving to his brother’s scalp, “there are a lot of injuries here.”

“What could do this?” Linda wrapped her arms around herself.

“An angel would be strong enough,” Amenadiel shrugged hopelessly, “if it was demons, then it must have been several of them. No one demon could do all of this damage in a fight.”

“He was restrained,” Chloe whispered, horror building back up in her stomach, making her voice high and quivering.

Amenadiel gritted his teeth and pulled Lucifer’s wrist up to look at the deep bruises encircling the joint. He soothed a thumb over the abrasions and shook his head sadly, glancing up to share a sorrowful moment with Linda.

“That would make it easier,” he laid his brother’s arm carefully across his chest with a deep sigh.

“Chloe, you should go,” Linda touched a hand to her shoulder, “let him heal up some.”

“Okay. Okay. Will you two stay with him, then?” Chloe took in a deep breath, unwilling to leave him so soon.

“Of course we will,” Linda rubbed soothingly at her shoulder. “Maze is with Charlie if you want to go and see them. We’ll call you when he wakes up.”

“Right,” she whispered, “okay then.” She went to the couch and laid a kiss on Lucifer’s forehead, in a rare spot not sticky with dried blood or purple with bruising. Slowly, regretfully, she left.

* * *

_It took most of his divine energy to seal the Gates. He stood on the Hell side, his hand outstretched as though he was in one of Detective Douche’s X-men movies, twitching his fingers as the obsidian barrier clanged closed._

_He hadn’t felt the rumble of his connection to Hell so fiercely until that moment. The ground quaked with the force of will he was exerting on the realm. He let his mind seep into the stones and ash of his kingdom, willing locks and barriers into existence with old, long forgotten power. One by one, they slammed down on the gate, barring entry or exit to demons and human souls. Azrael would have to find a different mode of delivery._

_The demons felt the thrum of his power compelling them away from the gate, and they quivered._

_Their King had proven himself worthy, once again, of his title. He had paid for it in their currencies. Coldness, rage, humiliation, agony, terror._

_Theirs, and his._

_They cowered in their caves and huts, fearing the wrath he so often exercised on them._

_Lucifer felt his power stutter and leave him as it transferred to the Gates. He fell to his knees, spent, his eyes burning with Hellfire and tears. It was done. No demon would be able to leave again._

_There was a long moment of complete, suffocating silence as Hell adjusted to its new confinement._

_Lucifer hung his head, the weight of Hell’s displeasure heavy on his shoulders. He sent his apologies into the realm, and it purred, disgruntled, within him._

_“Lord Lucifer!” He turned sharply at the sing song voice behind him, stumbling forward slightly and catching himself with a hand on the ashy ground. There was nothing there. “Oh, Lord Luuuuuicfer!” The voice came from his right now._

_He staggered to his feet, dread pooling in his stomach. He had no power left to fight. The voice came again on his left, accompanied by a cackle of laughter as he span around to find it._

_“Show yourself, demon,” Lucifer spat, his eyes blazing again._

_“Did you think we’d just let you leave?” The demon sang from all around him._

_“Who said anything about leaving?” His heart sank. The month on Earth must nearly be up by now. He pictured his Detective, waiting for him._

_“You did, my Lord! In your head,” the taunting voice echoed on the stone columns. “And we won’t let you!”_

_Lucifer felt the overwhelming cold before he felt the demon’s smoky form enter his chest. Ice spread through his limbs, and his drained energy was nothing, nothing compared to the cold. He was nothing. Nothing but ice and numbness. He fell back down to his knees, his heart thudding unevenly between his ribs._

_“Back to the cells, my Lord,” the voice sang from inside his head, “you have not fought me yet!”_

_Weakness._

_Cold._

_Hurt._

_Lucifer heard the scuttling of dozens of demons in the dark, and he was powerless to resist them. They pulled at his clothes and hair, small hands grabbing at him, shoving each other out of the way for a chance to clutch at divinity. They touched him all over, yanking his clothing roughly to the side, clawed fingers scratching at his skin._

_He felt small inside his body, his soul caged in cold and horror. Something monstrous and angry roared in his chest, but no sound left his mouth. The demons didn’t stop._

_He felt something heavy hit him in the side of the head, and Hell faded black around him._

* * *

_His hands were chained tight above his head, his feet barely grazing the floor. His wrists and shoulders supported his entire body weight, and he could feel that one was already dislocated, the other ready to follow._

_His head was heavy, and he let it roll down onto his chest, closing his eyes against the wave of pained dizziness. His vision was blurry and spinning, and he could barely discern the dark cell around him._

_He knew it by smell. The familiar stench of suppler and blood._

_This was his cell as much as the echo of the penthouse was his door. And he had been here too many times not to know the room terrifyingly intimately._

_Frustrated, bitter hopelessness washed over him. It might be days before he could summon enough of his own strength back from Hell to let him break through the chains and the cell door. Perhaps longer after that before he could fly through the barrier to Earth._

_And until then, he was stuck where the demons put him. Again._

_He couldn’t let them injure his wings. It was the only real thought in his mind. Without the wings, he would be stuck here. Let them do whatever else they wanted. Touch what they wanted. Take what they wanted. He would not let them harm his wings._

_The hours passed in a haze of pain, the chains holding him upright spinning with each blow, exposing a different part of his flesh to a different demon in the circle._

_They never tired, and their low guttural voices filled his pounding head. He tried to focus on something other than the pain. Tried to remember something beyond the cold fog that twirled in his soul._

_He had never found fault with the creativity of demons set to punish. These were no Maze, but he had to give them their due, any human would have succumbed a hundred times under their skilled ministrations. They knew exactly how far to push, and when to back off for a moment, in order to keep the pain at a crescendo of abhorrent, unyielding agony without killing him. Knew how to make him wish for death, even knowing what that would mean, here._

_They knew how to balance each blow with lighter, more sickening sensations, sending jolts of disorienting almost-pleasure through his crumbling body._

_They knew what to say to drive away his strength. They knew how to punish him, body, mind and soul. They had eons of practice, and had learned from the best. Learned from his own self flagellation, his own self loathing, clearly visible despite his efforts to hide, to remain invulnerable._

_They knew how to force the reluctant, shame filled screams from deep within his chest, the noise echoing off the rough walls, combining with their victorious laughter._

_He sucked desperately at the rag soaked in Lethe water, the only liquid they allowed him, and it warped his mind, swallowing greedily at his memories, at his life. He forgot, and the rag was yanked away, and the blows began again._

_Forgot the strobe lights and hastily snorted lines of parties._

_Forgot the way piano keys felt as he drew light and sound from them._

_Forgot the view from his balcony, the lights of city and sky meeting and blending into each other._

_Forgot the itching pain of severed wings._

_Forgot the sweet taste and heady defiance of stolen pudding cups._

_Forgot everything but the pair of sea blue eyes, staring at him, detached from a face, full of tears and love and longing and_ please don’t go _and_ deal _._

* * *

_Hell kept him conscious, his power intertwined with its, until, a small eternity later, his unforgiving kingdom returned enough of his divinity to break his chains._

_The demons who had been beating him, touching him, infiltrating his mind, screamed in shock and scrambled away as their King snapped the heavy metal clean in half._

_He fell to the ground, trying to ignore the burning pain and unfathomable cold cocooning his battered body, rooted deep in each molecule of stardust that swirled within him._

_He sought the demons, one by one, and crushed them out of existence. Each one fell to the shattered power of his rage and his desire._

_He felt his mind slipping further into a dark space in his brain with each agonizing step he took. Felt his emotions and his thoughts distorting and twisting under the stifling weight of his brokenness._

_He reached an open corridor, and spread his wings. They creaked and snapped and slammed through his ruined back, ripping the skin where the demons had torn at it. With some spark of power left in him, he summoned the Hellfire._

_“None shall defy me!” He roared through the flames, his voice full of strength he didn’t know if he’d ever feel again._

_Every stone, demon and clump of falling ash went still and silent at his all encompassing voice, ringing through every hallway, echoing against each closed door._

_“None shall live to see my wrath.”_

_He closed his eyes, letting the Hellfire replenish a little of his energies, never quite a substitute for divinity, and launched into the air._

_He was going back._

* * *

Lucifer woke with a gasp and sprang upright, smacking his face right into a wall. The wall twisted and turned to him, and then it wasn’t a wall.

“‘Men-diel?” Lucifer croaked, his vision still blurred.

“Yeah, little brother, it’s me,” Amenadiel said softly, putting a hand on his chest and gently pushing him back down onto the cushions.

Lucifer looked around. He was in the Detective’s living room, on the couch. It was soft, almost unbearably soft after centuries of nothing but stone.

Amenadiel sat at his hip, holding a stained washcloth.

“Where’s the Detective?” Lucifer asked, rubbing a hand across his forehead. It came back a little sticky with blood and sweat.

“She’s staying away for a little while, until you’re healed properly.”

“How did I get here?”

“Here to Earth, or here to Chloe’s apartment?”

“I was... at the precinct...” he blinked a few times, trying to clear the blurriness of his vision. His head throbbed nastily and he gave up, closing his eyes.

“That’s right,” Amenadiel said soothingly. “Chloe brought you here and asked Linda and I to come take care of you. She’ll be back in an hour or two, the worst healing is nearly done.” Amenadiel put a hand on his shoulder and Lucifer winced away. It didn’t feel nearly as bad as it had, though. The pain had dulled from a roar to a whimper. He had dealt with much worse.

But he was so tired. The cold seeped through him, weighing heavily on his soul, confounding his mind and dampening his light.

“You can sleep, brother. I’ve got you.”

* * *

He noticed the smell, first, and didn’t open his eyes, staying deliberately limp on the couch. He could smell Hell on himself, but this was different. Fresh demon. Not just the after-scent on his clothes and skin, but a live demon, near and close and coming. He feigned sleep, listening and smelling, controlling his breathing.

The demon was close, but also far. Maybe it was a Smoke, like the one that had entered him after he closed the Gates. But that wasn’t right. The smell was Lilim, not Smoke. It was more... like the demon had been close, but was far now.

Slowly, he opened one eye, just enough to see the room. He was lying on something soft. He did not know the place, but it wasn’t Hell. There was space around him to launch his attack, and that was the important thing.

His head pounded, and white spots seared his eyes behind closed lids. Nausea rolled in his stomach, sending dizzy waves through his head.

How had he got here, wherever he was? His limbs were heavy, but not bound, and he had no idea which faction of demons would have chosen not to chain him down. They all knew how much he hated chains, how much worse the foul restraints made everything, even if they didn’t acutely need him tied up.

He listened, searching the house. Three humans. An angel. And a demon. Lucifer growled, almost silent, deep in his throat, preparing to summon the Hellfire. The humans were defenseless. One of them was merely a spawn, a baby held in arms. He had to protect them. They stood no chance even against a lone demon.

Lucifer’s brain stuttered over the last thought. Why was there only one demon? They always travelled in at least pairs, more often in tribes. And how, _why_ , was there an angel here too?

Experimentally, he twitched his muscles, finding points that weren’t quite healed yet. A frayed tendon in his dominant shoulder, which would be hard to work around. Remnants of what felt like a concussion clouded his thoughts and throbbed at his head, but hopefully it wouldn’t delay his reactions too much. A light tugging on one of his legs as he rotated it in the hip joint, which might be an issue on sudden turns. Sluggish internal bleeding around his spleen, and the remnants of a ruptured kidney, both almost healed but aching fiercely. Overwhelming cold in every cell of his body, but cold had never stopped him before.

He was strong enough to fight one demon. He hoped that the angel wouldn’t want to fight him after. But it was a small hope. His siblings always wanted to fight him.

The others were talking in low voices in the kitchen. The three humans were closer, between him and the demon. He would have to lure it out. Demons flocked to signs of weakness, drawn to it like greedy moths to a flame.

He let out a low, pitiful moan and let his arm flop meekly off the side of the couch, ready to brace himself on the ground and roll into a fighting stance.

The four in the kitchen stopped talking, and one of the humans asked the others if they had heard anything. He manufactured another moan, and heard footsteps. The demon stayed in the kitchen, and the others came to him. No. That was wrong. That wasn’t the plan.

Lucifer felt his heart pounding. The humans were standing in the way. He wouldn’t be able to get to the demon without going past them. He cursed internally. Why did humans have to be so bloody curious? They had no idea the kinds of creatures they had let into their homes. Creatures like him.

He pushed the wave of self-disgust away and focused on his goal. The humans reached his couch, and the one not holding the baby leaned over him. Panic seized his chest as he felt the shadow cross him, but he schooled his body into complete stillness.

“I’m pretty sure he’s asleep still,” the human whispered. Lucifer bit down on his tongue. Some of the worst possible things happened when the intended victim was asleep, their guard down. He tensed his stomach in preparation for hands or blows. But the human didn’t touch him.

The human stepped away and sat down on the other couch. The other human followed with the child, and the angel stood by the wall. All three were out of the way. He just needed the demon to come closer.

He tried for his weakest voice, and it was embarrassingly easy. He was weak. His head throbbed viciously as he let it roll to the side, exposing his neck but also bracing for the moment he would need to spring off the couch.

He whispered in Demon. A pitiful, begging noise which drew the angel’s attention.The angel made a sudden hand movement which Lucifer saw through the dusky pink of his eyelids, and he almost flinched. But the angel wasn’t the one he needed to worry about right now. Not yet.

Yes. The angel’s movement had summoned the demon. The demon would be needed for translation. He let another few words slip through his lips. Meaningless words that could have been any dream.

The demon approached from behind his head. He didn’t like it behind him. It smelled like the cells. Coppery blood and sulphur and pain and humiliation and giving up. Its hand cast a shadow over his face and his heart leapt, every muscle tense and still.

As soon as it got close enough, he sprang.

Lucifer barrel rolled off the couch, flexing upwards into a crouched fighting stance, one hand planted firmly on the floor, the other outstretched behind him, ready to swing. He snarled up at the demon, letting the Hellfire fill his eyes.

The demon recoiled. It had been about to put its hand on his head. It had been about to _touch_ him! He growled in warning, ready to launch, and, inexplicably, it put its hands up, as though in surrender.

“Lucifer,” it said quietly. “I am with you, until the end. I will protect you from harm. I will defend you from the dangers you see coming, and the dangers you do not. I am your strongest shield and your sharpest weapon. I am with you.”

His head was full of buzzing. He knew those words. He knew that demon. It... she... wasn’t.... The demon approached him, and he growled again, quieter. She knelt on the ground a few feet away.

“I, who have fought for you, killed for you, offer you my life in unyielding service. I swear this by the Hellfire, and on our blood, entwined.”

He knew the words. The scent of demon on her overwhelmed him, and his vision swam. He felt his breath hitch, his heart accelerate. But this demon... was it possible that this demon... intended him no harm?

“M-maze?” He asked, every muscle in his barely healed body trembling from the effort of holding his fighting stance. The name tripped in his mouth. Unfamiliar, yet close. Hard, but safe. Arms that sparred but didn’t fight. Held, sometimes, not in restraint but in satisfaction, in togetherness.

“Yeah, that’s right,” she said quietly, bowing her head to him. “Just me.”

The tension rushed out of his exhausted muscles. Maze wasn’t going to harm him.

His stomach rolled with the sudden release of fear, and he retched, expelling nothing but a mouthful of spit and bile, tinted black with ash and blood.

Maze thrusted towards him and he wrenched away, stumbling back almost to the wall.

“Back!” He hissed, breathing heavily. His vision clouded for a moment and he retched again, bringing up acid which burned his throat.

The smell of demon washed over him and he felt his abdomen tense in preparation for pain. Maze stepped away.

Slowly, laboriously, he spoke to her in her own language, a regional dialect he knew no angel but himself could speak. If there had been a word for ‘please’, he would have used it.

“Mazikeen... I need... you smell like _them_... leave me alone....”

“I understand, my lord,” she never called him that anymore, but he had no name in her tongue, “summon me, when you are ready. I’ll keep watch.”

He nodded, not looking directly at her. He felt a wave of exhaustion and a shiver of familiar, icy cold sweep over him as she left without a word to the others.

Sluggishly, he crumpled back to the floor, curling slightly onto his side, and slipped back into divinity replenishing sleep.


	3. Fear and Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He couldn’t quite gather the energy together to stand, and she wasn’t protesting, so he stayed down, leaning into the corner.
> 
> He felt gentle, tender hands on his body, rubbing soap that smelled of her into his skin. Fingers danced over his flesh, not wounding, not grasping, just tending to the deep knots in his muscles and soothing his raggedly beating heart. Cleaning away the ash and the blood from his face. Washing the stench of rot from his skin.
> 
> Time drifted.

When he woke again, he was back on the couch. The pain was less, and he stretched his limbs without damaging anything for the first time in years.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” someone whispered from nearby. He opened his eyes and found an almost dark, blissfully familiar room. He looked around, and there she was. His Detective.

She sat in an arm chair a few feet away, one finger curled inside a closed book, her legs folded under her.

She wore reading glasses he’d never seen before. Her hair curled gently around her face.

She was lit up by the television behind her, playing some nature documentary which seemed to focus on the ocean.

“Chloe,” he breathed, closing his eyes momentarily in relief before opening them again, desperate not to miss even a second of her. Carefully, he maneuvered himself into a sitting position, his hands planted firmly on the couch, and dipped his head, shaking it free of the last vestiges of the concussion.

He was bone tired. Soul tired. He could feel the aching chasm of spent divinity inside his chest. He had used it all, sealing the Gates, transferring power back and forth between himself and his dominion, flying across the planes, healing his body. Everything felt heavy and slack, as though his limbs didn’t quite want to respond. And he was so cold.

“I...” he didn’t know what he wanted to say.

He missed her.

He loved her.

He wanted to never, ever leave this room if she would deign to stay with him.

“I stink,” he settled on. Which was just as true as his other ideas. She let out one of her perfect, awkward, huffing laughs and stood up.

He stared up at her, drinking her in like he’d been dying of thirst. She smiled, her lips quirking upwards in contentment and amusement as she reached out to push a strand of hair off his forehead. He melted into her touch, starved for her, aching for her.

“You kind of do,” she admitted gently, reaching for his hand.

“I might...” words seemed to take a second to form, “I might need a little more help than that, Detective,” he said, hating how weak his voice sounded.

“Sure,” she sat down next to him and pushed herself under his left arm. She braced around him and counted down from three. At one, they stood together, and he let her take more weight than he wanted to burden her with. But he was so tired.

The world span sickeningly around him, and he stumbled slightly, lilting to the side. She caught him, and wrapped her arm more firmly around his chest.

Time wobbled a little, and he felt flashes of their limping traipse to the bathroom tumble through his brain, not quite processing them.

Before he’d fully grasped that he wasn’t on the couch anymore, he was standing alone in the bathroom, clutching a large towel and staring blindly into the middle distance, eyes shuttered over with exhaustion.

A trace of fear bubbled inside him. He didn’t want to be alone.

“Um, Detective?” He hated, _hated_ , how he sounded. Weak, and pathetic, and begging. But he wanted her more than he wanted to appear invulnerable at that moment. She wasn’t a threat. She had _visited him in Hell_. More than any sibling, parent, friend, or consort had ever done.

She was there in seconds. He didn’t know if she had only just left, or if she’d been standing at the door, or if time had slipped around him again, but there she was. Radiant in a different way now, her hair tied back into a pony tail, lit by the fluorescent bathroom light rather than the soft blues of television oceans.

“Do you need anything?” She asked softly. More softly than he could ever earn.

“I... would you... would you stay?” He had showered with hundreds, maybe thousands of humans, and it had never cost him what it cost to ask her to wait with him.

She smiled her gentle, understanding smile, and entered the room, taking a seat on the closed toilet.

Carefully, he stripped off his filthy clothes. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, although he remembered having one before. He’d deliberately worn his human clothes to seal the Gates, planning on heading straight up when his task was done. So much for that.

His shirt was practically in tatters, large, rusty blood stains marring the side and back.

He folded the it neatly and placed it next to the sink, trying not to think of the small claws and biting weapons that had ripped it apart.

His trousers were stiff with dried blood, and he folded them with increasingly shaky hands. He pulled off his muddy, damp socks and placed them on top of the pile.

Then he was standing in the middle of the bathroom in his underwear, suddenly, inexplicably unsure of himself.

“I’ve seen you naked before, you know? Several times, actually,” she chucked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, yes, quite,” he murmured. He reached into the shower and turned it on, dialing it up to the highest heat setting and waiting for it to warm up. He turned his back on her and pulled off his boxers, just as blood soaked as his trousers had been, and laid them gently on top of his other clothes. Without looking back at her, he stepped into the shower.

It was glorious.

Despite the occasionally scorching temperature of the air, there was no hot water in Hell. The waters that occasionally spurted up from the springs were frigid. Lucifer had always half wondered if that was yet another feature of the landscape designed specifically to punish him and his love for warmth.

He felt his muscles relax somewhat as the scalding water buffeted down on him. Layers of mud, blood and ash sloughed off his skin, turning the water an ugly grey-pink in rivulets at his feet.

He breathed in the moist, warm air and felt his head spin. He was tired. So tired. Even blissful moments couldn’t sustain him long. But his skin itched with dirt still, and he was desperate to be clean, to put himself back together the way he was supposed to look.

He felt his shoulder hit the wall as he drifted sideways. The tiles were cool under him, even as the hot water turned his skin pink.

“Lucifer?” He heard her voice over the stream of water, and realized he was kneeling on the floor of the shower, shivering despite the heat, his forehead resting on the wall under the controls, propped up with a shoulder on the next wall.

She sounded like she’d been calling him for a while. He shook his head minutely. Had he lost more time? He was freezing.

“I’m coming in,” she warned. The shower door opened, letting in a gust of bitterly cold air. They both gasped at the same time. Him with the shock of the air, her with the sudden pain of scalding water hitting her shoulder and head.

“‘Tective,” he mumbled, trying and failing to get to his feet, slipping a little on the wet plastic.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m going to turn the heat down a little so I can come in here with you.” The water lost it’s bite, but stayed hot. At least she didn’t turn it cold. He didn’t think he could cope with that at the moment.

He couldn’t quite gather the energy together to stand, and she wasn’t protesting, so he stayed down, leaning into the corner. He felt gentle, tender hands on his body, rubbing soap that smelled of her into his skin. Fingers danced over his flesh, not wounding, not grasping, just tending to the deep knots in his muscles and soothing his raggedly beating heart. Cleaning away the ash and the blood from his face. Washing the stench of rot from his skin.

Time drifted.

He felt fingers in his hair, not yanking or directing or wanting, but pulling out the grime and replacing it with shampoo that smelled even more like her. He mewled a little in pleasure, pushing his head up to meet the hands, begging them to keep going. He heard a delightful giggle, and his heart filled with warmth, pushing away a fraction of the cold.

It was her! His Detective. Real and touching him like he wasn’t... what he was.

Almost like he was worth something.

The hands stilled on his face and cupped his jaw. He let his head rest there, instead of on the wall. He was happy to go wherever she moved him. She had washed away the ash, and he had never been more grateful to anyone.

“I’m going to get you a towel, okay? You just stay here for another minute.”

“M’kay,” he breathed. She guided his forehead back to the wall and he rested against it. More time passed without his leave, and he was wrapped in a towel, sitting on the toilet seat. She was running another towel over his hair, gently rubbing his curls dry. He allowed time to slip again.

He lay on her bed, warm arms circling him from behind, one hand carding through his drying hair and grazing at his scalp, the other resting on his chest above his heart.

This was real. This was safe. He was back.

* * *

When Lucifer emerged from the bedroom well into the next morning, he still looked exhausted. Deep purple marks settled like bruises under his eyes, even though his actual bruises had faded almost to nothing. His hair was mussed from sleep, and his movements were heavy and wooden.

He looked jarringly shabby in the old pair of Dan’s grey sweatpants and blue LAPD sweater she had dressed him in after he’d passed out the night before. He’d wrapped the blanket from her bed around himself like a cape, as though he was still cold.

His hair was longer than before, loose curls falling lazily over his ears and across his forehead. His facial hair, while still short, could definitely not be classed as stubble.

He stood awkwardly in the living room at the bottom of the stairs, looking at her as she sat on the couch, his hands buried in the blanket, clutching it tightly to him.

He cleared his throat, and Chloe looked up, taking him in with a mixture of worry and relief.

“You’re awake!” She stood up and went to him, not coming too close.

“It seems I overslept,” he said quietly, his voice heavy and a little raw, “my apologies.”

“It’s no problem,” she frowned, “would you like some breakfast?”

Something flickered in his eyes, some mix of confusion, gratitude, reticence and hunger.

“I... if you’re... yes, please. Thank you.” Chloe frowned at his uncharacteristic hesitancy and politeness. He was always polite, she supposed, but he seemed wary, unsure of himself, even when it was just the two of them.

She’d hoped that he’d be able to relax once his brother, his therapist, the baby, and Maze, who had explained that she smelled of Hell, were gone. She’d even taken the day off work, setting herself up for a three day weekend, fairly certain that he’d rather not be alone.

Apparently she had been a little optimistic.

“Of course,” she smiled sadly, “omelet?”

“That would be delightful, thank you,” he followed her to the kitchen and let her guide him to a stool at the breakfast bar. He didn’t speak.

The silent seconds dragged into minutes as Chloe cooked, waiting for the eggs to get solid enough before she added peppers, cheese and mushrooms.

When she turned around to check on him, Lucifer was staring blankly at the table. He was probably still tired, she reassured herself. He looked absolutely shattered, as though he could pitch forward and fall asleep again at any moment, despite having slept for a solid eighteen hours.

When she finally placed the steaming plate in front of him, he jumped.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” she soothed, pushing the plate towards him and putting a knife and fork by his hand. He nodded slowly, not looking her in the eye but also keeping close tabs on her movements. He looked like a skittish, injured wild animal.

Chloe could feel his nervousness coming off him in waves, almost solid in the air.

He just needed time, she told herself, repeating it on loop. He was still healing. He was tired.

She forced herself not to think about the bruises or the broken bones, the deep scratches on his back or the cool, clammy feel of his skin.

“You should eat,” she motioned to the plate. Very slowly, he reached out and pulled the plate to him, shielding it slightly with his arm. She stepped away, frowning. Maybe he needed space?

She could feel his eyes on her as she retreated to the kitchen and sat up on a counter. She saw his nose flaring in anticipation, his mouth already making little chewing motions before any food had gone near.

He hunched a little over his plate, as though he was protecting it, and cut off a small bite of egg. Slowly, not taking his eyes off her, he raised it to his mouth, and ate.

Chloe didn’t know quite what she had been expecting his reaction to be, but it wasn’t that. Lucifer’s eyes lit with bright red flames the instant the food entered his mouth, and let out a growl from deep in his chest. He abandoned the fork and practically inhaled the rest of the omelet, almost choking on it, his arm curled possessively around the plate, his eyes darting all around the room.

Chloe stared at him, open mouthed. He looked almost rabid.

“Are... are you okay?” She asked as he finished. He looked wildly, mournfully, between her and the plate, hair flopping into his eyes, and said nothing. “Would you... are you still hungry? I can make you toast, or cereal?”

A few moments of quiet followed where he did nothing but stare at her, his eyes slowly fading back to brown. Then he nodded.

* * *

By the time he’d demolished two full boxes of cereal, half a loaf of bread, an entire carton of orange juice, a bottle of milk and another six eggs, he’d stopped hunching protectively over the food, and his tracking of her movements had lost the desperate edge it had had.

Now he just looked embarrassed, and nervous all over again.

“So...” Chloe wondered into the silence, “do you need any more food? Water?”

“I—” he coughed a little, his voice strained, “no, thank you. I think I’ve had enough.”

“Good,” she smiled, “I don’t think I even have any more breakfast food.”

It had been the wrong thing to say, apparently. He ducked his head, like he’d been scolded.

“I’ll have someone from Lux come and restock your cupboards,” he apologized, his shoulders flexing in on themselves.

“Lucifer, it’s fine,” she wanted desperately to reach out and cup his face, but she resisted. “I love feeding you.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, barely loud enough for her to hear.

“You don’t need to be sorry. You were obviously hungry.”

“Yeah,” his voice cracked again, “I was.”

“Well then,” she spread her hands out, indicating the empty plates and glasses, smiling a little, “I’m happy to oblige.”

“Thank you,” he said simply, not looking up. His body was all tense lines and knotted muscle.

“When was the last time you ate?” She asked softly. He winced a little and tired to cover it.

“I... there’s no food in Hell,” he ran a hand awkwardly through his messy hair. Chloe frowned. But... he’d been in Hell for hundreds of years, he’d said. And an eternity before that.

“Don’t you need to eat?”

“Well I... I need to eat on Earth. In Heaven, beings thrive on my Father’s light. On His divinity. It sustains them beyond the need for food or water.”

“But what about Hell?” Apprehension tingled in her stomach, unsure if she wanted to know the answer.

“I am the Light Bringer, Detective,” he said softly, “I make my own light.”

“So then why were you hungry?”

“Mine isn’t...” he seemed to be searching for an adequate human translation, “sustaining, like Dad’s. And Hell is a lot bigger than Heaven.”

“So Hell, what? Feeds on your divinity?” Her face screwed up in confusion.

“The realm, the demons, the humans, and myself, yes.”

“And it’s not enough?”

“It was never enough,” he sighed, shaking his head a little. “That’s what Hell _is._ Separation from God and His sustaining power. Everyone is hungry in Hell.”

“But... but... that’s so... so cruel...”

“That is its purpose.” He sounded formal, stilted, like he was reading his answer from a book.

“So you’ve been... you’ve been _that_ hungry, for hundreds of years?” His complete lack of response was an answer itself. Chloe gripped her hands together behind her neck, letting her finger nails dig a little into her scalp. “What about sleep? You seem exhausted.”

“No sleeping in Heaven,” he muttered, “or in Hell. And sleep wouldn’t be a good idea there even if you could. It’s not exactly a defensible position.”

“You get tired, though?”

“All beings get hungry and tired without sustenance,” he shrugged.

“But you’re _this_ hungry, and _this_ tired, all the time? With no way to fix it?” Horror flooded through her veins as he nodded tightly. “ _Fuck_ , Lucifer!”

“Thought you took that off the table,” he said, raising his eyes finally off his plate to meet hers. She almost cried at the familiar, if dulled, look in his eye, all playful suggestiveness and childish innuendo. She let out a whoop of startled, relieved laughter. She shoved her distress to the bottom of her mind and pulled back her relief that he was home, letting him change the topic.

“I missed you so much,” she leant towards him and captured his hand in hers. He tensed for a second, then relaxed, leaning into her.

“I missed you too,” he croaked, resting his forehead on her shoulder. He let out a deep, shuddering breath and went a little limp against her.

“How about we go to bed?” She asked.

He tensed again and looked awkwardly up at her from his spot at her shoulder. His eyes were shuttered over with tiredness, and he looked almost defeated, as though he was about to resign himself to his fate.

“As you desire, Detective. But I’m afraid I might... not give you my optimal performance for a few more days.”

She looked at him blankly. What did he mean, optimal performance? His eyes darted back down, breaking contact with hers.

“But I’ll put in every effort, darling, don’t worry about that,” he said in what he clearly assumed was a reassuring tone. To Chloe, he just sounded miserable. With rising trepidation, she put two and two together.

He thought she wanted to have sex. And he clearly didn’t want to. And he was planning on doing it anyway. Because she’d asked.

Horror flooded her mind.

“No, Lucifer, I just meant... I just meant that you look like you could use more sleep. I don’t want to...” she dropped her voice to a slightly harsh whisper, “have _sex_ with you!”

If she had been expecting relief, she was disappointed. He looked like she’d struck him, and he pulled away.

She felt ridiculously out of her depth. She had no idea what was going on in his head, and knew he wouldn’t tell her. She was fumbling wildly in the dark for responses to feelings he probably didn’t even know he had.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed—” he stood up, grabbed the blanket from where it had fallen during his food binge, and wrapped it tightly, protectively, around himself.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she fought back tears. This was not the person she’d known.

Her old Lucifer had never been this uncertain, this skittish, this... frightened. Her old Lucifer had broken into her house, over and over, with his shit eating grin and his perfect coffee, whining about paperwork and treating her daughter like a puppy.

“Let’s just get some rest, okay? Everything feels worse when you’re tired. Do you want me to sit with you?”

“No!” The word burst from him like a reflex, loud and certain, with a heart wrenching note of fear. He took a breath and visibly schooled his expression. “No, Detective. Thank you.”

He turned on his heel, gathering the blanket tightly around himself and reached the short staircase in several long, quick strides, as though he was fleeing.

But then he stopped abruptly with one foot on the bottom stair. He turned back, slowly, his face a little paler than it had been.

“I... I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “I didn’t ask. May I... use your bedroom, or is there somewhere else you’d prefer me to go?”

Chloe’s breath hitched. This was wrong. Everything was wrong. He looked smaller, somehow. Like he was trying to take up less space for her. He was a practically all-powerful celestial being, and he was standing in her house, wrapped in her old fleece blanket, looking like he thought she might hit him for daring to assume that he could sleep off his obvious exhaustion in her bed.

“Of course you can use my room,” she managed to choke out the words, desperately pulling back the tears aching at the corners of her eyes.

He bit his bottom lip again, and his eyes darted suddenly from the floor in front of him, to her, to the door, and back to the carpet. Chloe recognized the behavior and her heart twisted.

He was checking threats and exits.

He was afraid.

What had Hell done, to make the Devil afraid?

“Thank you,” he mumbled. Slowly, as though he didn’t want to turn his back to her, he went up the stairs. Chloe heard her bedroom door open. Silence reigned.

* * *

When she went to check on him at almost dinner time, Lucifer was curled up in a tight ball in the middle of her bed. She’d always imagined that he would sleep spread out, taking up as much of the space as he could, just as he did when he was awake. He was always so much larger than life, so much fuller and deeper than anyone around him. But now he looked small, and a little frail.

He’d left the bedroom door open, and Chloe closed it silently behind her as she tiptoed in.

He faced away from her, still clutching the blanket to him. He hadn’t climbed under her sheets, or used her pillows, and she tried not to think of that in the context of his wide, frightened eyes as he’d asked if he was allowed to use the bed at all.

Blinking away the slight mistiness from her vision, she silently decided he’d sleep in her bed every night until he said he didn’t want to anymore.

Only the top of his head was visible under the grey blanket, and his hair was stuck up delightfully in a dozen different directions. She’d have to get him his product from Lux, she knew how much he hated his curls. They were remarkably adorable, though. She’d miss them.

Very gently, she reached out to touch his shoulder.

“Lucifer?” She whispered.

He startled awake and flinched almost violently away, sending his body shooting off the other side of the bed. Quicker than humanly possible, he was standing, arms raised in fight and defense, his eyes wild with Hellfire and surprise.

He growled, a snarling sound wrenching from deep in his chest, completely inhuman.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” she put her own hands in the air in surrender.

There were a few, heart stopping moments where he didn’t seem to recognize her. And whatever he was seeing clearly terrified him. But then his arms dropped tiredly to his sides and he rubbed a rough hand over his face.

“Detective,” his voice was gravelly and a little desperate, “please don’t do that.”

“I’m sorry,” she bit her lip, now familiar tears welling in her eyes again.

“It’s... it’s okay,” he sighed, gathering the blanket again and wrapping it back around his shoulders. His entire body shivered with cold, and his hands buried themselves deep into the soft fleece. “I just... don’t... don’t wake me up like that. Please.”

“I...” she’d only touched his shoulder. She’d been careful. His posture sank a little more, and he refused to meet her eye. “Can you tell me what I did, so I don’t do it again?”

“Just... I just... it doesn’t matter,” he edged around the bed, giving her a wide birth, and glanced to the door. She saw his eyes go wide again with panic, and his gaze flitted from the closed door to her and back. He choked down a stressed little noise in the back of his throat, terrifyingly close to a whimper.

“Looks like it does matter,” she tried to measure her voice, tried to sound like this was any other conversation. “I could tell you what I did, and you can tell me what was wrong?”

He nodded once, every muscle tight and ready to run or fight.

“Okay. I came in quietly, so I guess you didn’t hear me,” he nodded again, a little more panic showing in his sculpted, pale face, “okay, I’ll make sure you know when I’m in a room then. I touched your shoulder, and that’s what made you jump, I think. So I’ll try not to touch you when you’re not expecting it. Is there anything else I should know?”

“Door,” he bit out, a little breathless.

“I closed the door? You’d prefer it open?”

He nodded again. Slowly, Chloe stood up and opened the door. He was still for a few seconds, as though waiting for her to change her mind, then he darted through it, the blanket billowing a little behind him.

She caught up to him in the living room, deliberately walking slowly, not chasing him.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his eyes shiny and wet, “I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know what’s _wrong_ with me.”

He looked at her with fear and desperation writ large on his face, in every line of his tense, trembling body. He looked at her like he was pleading, _begging,_ for help. Like he was drowning.

“It’s okay,” she went to him, making sure he could see all her movements, and gently wrapped her arms around his slightly skinner-than-before body. The muscles he’d developed while she’d been in Rome were gone, leaving behind narrow lines and jutting ribs.

He tensed for a second, then relaxed, his hands finding the small of her back, his head drooping to her shoulder. His skin was still cold.

“Clearly, some... bad stuff happened. I’m here to talk about it when you’re ready, but we can stick to the basics for now, yeah? Let’s get you rested and fed and warm, and get a couple more showers in. We’ll order pizza. We can deal with this together, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispered into her neck, his arms tightening around her waist, clinging to her.

His breath on her skin sent a little shiver down her spine. She’d been dreaming about him coming back for weeks, and this broken hug was so viscerally different from what she had imagined that it was painfully disconcerting. But all of that could wait, would have to wait. He needed her.

* * *

Their pizza arrived without further incident. Lucifer sat with his long legs curled under him on the couch, still wearing Dan’s clothes, his hair astonishingly messy. Chloe itched to muss it up more. Privately, she savored the knowledge that he was letting himself be vulnerable and scruffy around her. She didn’t think he’d do it for many people.

Chloe left his extra large meat feast pizza in the box, took four slices from her own medium Hawaiian and dumped them on a plate. She carried her bounty over to him, deliberately approaching from the front, and handed him his box.

“Thank you,” he smiled thinly up at her, taking the food and holding it on his lap. His eyes shuttered closed for a second, soaking up the warmth before opening it and starting to eat. If he didn’t hate the word a little, he would have called it divine.

“You’re paying, remember,” she teased, flashing the credit card he’d had sent to her after he’d left. She had unrestricted access to his bank accounts, and this was the first time she’d used the card. It had felt a little too much like stealing. Or like admitting he wasn’t coming back and wouldn’t need the money.

“Naturally,” his smile quirked into something more familiar, “the LAPD barely paid me, I can’t imagine what paltry salary they give to actual detectives.”

“Not enough,” she grinned. She slid the credit card into her pocket, and sat down at the other end of the couch. He was sitting on the far side, the spot with the clearest view of the front door, and Chloe didn’t crowd him. “So, what do you want to watch?” she asked brightly, brandishing the remote at him.

He looked completely blank for a second.

“Something funny?” He suggested hesitantly. Chloe smiled and picked through the comedies section, settling on something from the eighties she hadn’t seen in a while. The movie started, and they munched companionably on their pizza. It felt almost like before.

Lucifer wolfed the first half of his meal in about five minutes, but slowed down as the plot of the movie got going. She even saw him smile at the corny jokes.

Chloe finished her food and put her plate down. He took his final slice, put the box down next to her plate and refocused on the screen.

The gap between them felt huge suddenly. They never sat this far apart. Even when her desk was between them at the precinct, he was always leaning in to her space, putting his feet on her side, touching her hand, reaching over to steal a swig of her coffee.

Half way through the movie, Lucifer’s head started drooping. He still looked exhausted, despite having barely been awake for two full hours in the day and a half since he’d shown up at the precinct.

Every few minutes, his head would fall down to his chest, or loll to the side, and he’d jerk upright, jarring his neck each time. Chloe’s own neck started to ache in sympathy.

“Want to lie down here?” She asked when his head fell and snapped back up for the fourth time. He looked at her in a strange mix of confusion, trepidation and wonder.

“Are... are you sure?”

“Of course, babe,” she whispered, patting the couch next to her hip. The nickname slipped out, and he made no objection, his eyes brightening with what she could only describe as pure, unadulterated adoration. He looked away immediately, and the tips of his ears flushed red.

Chloe felt warmth flood her belly, an almost violent urge to protect him surging in her, as much as she knew it was ridiculous that someone like him would need to be protected by someone like her.

It was a mark of just how tired he was that he put up no further fight. He twisted round, still wrapped in her blanket, and curled up next to her, the top of his head resting against the side of her thigh.

Gently, she carded her fingers through his hair, stroking his scalp and the rim of his ear. His skin was still disconcertingly cool to her touch. He shuddered in what she suspected was closer to pleasure than his earlier fear, and she kept going.

He was asleep in seconds.


	4. The Douche and the Demon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan turned the corner to the living room and took in the scene. Chloe was half waking up, her feet propped up on the table, and Lucifer was curled in a tight ball, wrapped in a blanket, on the rest of the couch, the top of his head leaning against Chloe’s thigh.
> 
> Dan couldn’t help the little surge of anger, or the pang of jealousy. Lucifer had gotten Charlotte killed, had ruined his second chance at happiness, and was now cuddling with his first.
> 
> He shoved the feelings away, taking a moment to breathe out his anger, just like Linda had been teaching him. He blinked away the dozen images of Lucifer in his immaculate suits, brushing Dan aside, and took in the other man’s disheveled form, remembering the blank look in his eyes at the precinct, and the fluttering weakness of his panicking heartbeat as Dan had struggled to hold him upright with a hand on his chest.

When Dan arrived with Trixie the next morning, ready for her weekend with her mother, they were still asleep on the couch. Dan still had his own keys, just as Chloe had keys to his apartment, though she used them a lot less.

“Mom!” Trixie yelled as they entered, “I’m here!”

Dan always noticed that she didn’t call her other parent’s houses _home_ in front of them. She called his apartment home all the time, when she was there, but it always turned to _Dad’s place_ or _yours_ when they were with Chloe.

“Trix?” Chloe’s muffled, slightly thick voice came from his left.

Dan turned the corner to the living room and took in the scene. Chloe was half waking up, her feet propped up on the table, and Lucifer was curled in a tight ball, wrapped in a blanket, on the rest of the couch, the top of his head leaning against Chloe’s thigh.

Dan couldn’t help the little surge of anger, or the pang of jealousy. Lucifer had gotten Charlotte killed, had ruined his second chance at happiness, and was now cuddling with his first.

He shoved the feelings away, taking a moment to breathe out his anger, just like Linda had been teaching him. He blinked away the dozen images of Lucifer in his immaculate suits, brushing Dan aside, and took in the other man’s disheveled form, remembering the blank look in his eyes at the precinct, and the fluttering weakness of his panicking heartbeat as Dan had struggled to hold him upright with a hand on his chest.

“Lucifer!” Trixie screamed, covering the room in a giant leap and diving, headfirst, over her mother.

Chloe tried and failed to hold her back, and Trixie scrambled over her to land right on top of her sleeping target.

Lucifer jerked away and his hands clamped down around Trixie, catapulting both of them off the couch and on to the floor.

He snarled like a rabid dog, pinning her down onto the carpet, crouched on all fours with the blanket twisted around his legs. Trixie was trapped under him, her wrists held tight in his large hands, lying flat on her back and giggling.

“Hey, what the fuck!” Dan yelled. A sudden, constricting, thumping power tightened around his chest, making the air heavy and almost painful to breathe.

Lucifer blinked several times in rapid succession, managing to stop the Hellfire engulfing his eyes, as he recognized his assailant.

Chloe dragged Trixie out from under him, and he released her wrists with a shocked gasp.

“Trixie, that wasn’t nice!” Chloe tugged her into a hug and scolded into her ear. “You know you’re supposed to get permission before you hug people, and he was asleep!”

“Sorry Mom,” she practically sang, “but look! Lucifer’s back!” Trixie pushed away from her mother and stood in front of her newly returned friend.

Lucifer remained crouched on the ground. He couldn’t move his legs, tangled as they were in the blanket. He looked up at her, and felt the cold of obsidian at his knees, felt hot, bony fingers tightening in his hair as he slumped in agonized defeat, heard the mocking voices screaming at their disgraced king, felt the humiliation and the fearful swoop of desire to escape, to fight, to get _away_.

“Lucifer?” Trixie frowned down at him, her face creasing into worry. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t hear anything real except the blood roaring in his ears.

“Come on, baby, he just needs a minute to wake up properly. Take Dad to your room and put your stuff away, okay?” Chloe pulled her daughter away from the trembling Devil crouched before her, and gave Dan a look that left no room for argument.

“I’m not leaving you alone with him!” Dan objected. Lucifer flinched away from his harsh tone, and Chloe glared at him, raising a hand to point at Trixie’s bedroom door.

Dan swallowed.

A dozen questions fought for dominance in his mind, but he pushed them all away at the look on Chloe’s face.

“Fine. Come on, Monkey, let's give them a little space, alright?”

Dan held out his hand and Trixie took it, allowing herself to be led, not looking away until they reached her bedroom door. A modicum of tension left Lucifer’s body as he watched them leave the room. He remained on his hands and knees, trapped under the blanket.

“Need some help?” Chloe put a ridiculous amount of effort into keeping her voice casual. Slowly, he shook his head and rolled onto his side, kicking his legs out of their blanket prison. “I’ll talk to her,” she reassured him, “make sure she doesn’t do that again.”

Lucifer didn’t say anything. He put a hand on the couch and used it to push himself upright, not looking at her.

Slowly, like a suspect reaching for a wallet that could be a gun, he bent down for the blanket and wrapped himself back up, uncontrollable shivers rolling over his body.

“Trixie will have already eaten breakfast, but we’ll have some when Dan leaves, okay?”

He nodded, still silent, standing by the couch. His teeth worried the inside of his bottom lip.

“Lucifer, are you okay?”

“I didn’t... I didn’t mean to... she just... I’m sorry,” he stared at her hands, seemingly unable to make eye contact, but also unable to let her out of his sight.

“You didn’t hurt her,” Chloe said gently, “she jumped on you while you were sleeping. Anyone would react to that.”

Lucifer closed his eyes for a moment, his hands balled tight in the blanket. Slowly, he turned to look at her. She saw the doubt, and the fear, as clearly as if he’d spoken the words.

“I’ll... I’ll go, if you want me to,” he pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders, and Chloe saw the tremors in his muscles, “I’m not... I shouldn’t be around... I can go back. To Lux. If you want.”

The thought seemed to scare him as much as it worried her. She couldn’t possibly let him out of her sight again. And the fact that he thought she wanted him gone? Well that was her own damned fault, wasn’t it? Of course he wouldn’t take this at face value. Of course he didn’t trust that it wasn’t about to be pulled out from under him. She’d betrayed him, over and over, allowed everyone else’s rumors about him darken her knowledge of who he was.

“I’m not afraid of you anymore,” she whispered, “and Trixie was never afraid. You literally just had her pinned on the ground and she was _laughing_!”

Lucifer looked away, disbelieving. He did not deserve the warm understanding he saw in her eyes.

They both started slightly when Trixie and Dan emerged from her bedroom.

“Okay,” Dan clapped his hands together awkwardly. “Okay. Are you guys all set? Need anything?”

“We’re all good, Dan, thanks,” Chloe smiled.

“Hey man, are you... wearing my clothes?” Dan frowned as he spotted the old sweatpants, baggy and too short on Lucifer’s ridiculously tall frame, and the faded LAPD sweater.

Lucifer flinched in on himself a little and fixed his eyes on the floor, tugging the blanket more firmly around his shoulders.

A familiar wave of shame washed over him. A tiny part of his brain ached for a three piece suit, perfectly tailored and clinging in all the right places, sublimely paired with a silk shirt and matching pocket square. Even as he thought it, the rest of his mind shied away at the thought of the restive material, the tight fabric, the enclosed lines. He shivered slightly, fisting his hands in the blanket.

“Sorry, I—I didn’t have a chance to go... to go back to the penthouse yet,” he said.

“It’s okay,” Chloe shot a reproachful look at Dan.

Lucifer didn’t want to go back to Lux. The thought of his home, with all his things, all his familiar, carefully curated possessions, brought with it a wave of sick fear. He had watched too many people die in the echo of that penthouse. Killed too many people there, too many times.

“Is he staying here, then?” Dan turned to Chloe, dragging his eyes away from the oddly tense and small lines of Lucifer’s shoulders. She nodded firmly and touched his forearm, reassuring and steady against his cold skin.

Lucifer stared down at her hand, uncomprehending.

“Yeah,” Chloe said quietly. “He’ll stay as long as he wants.”

“Fine. Okay.” Dan sighed. He steeled himself to voice his next concern, standing a little taller, shifting slightly so that he was firmly between Lucifer in the living room and Trixie in the kitchen. “Look. I know this is a shitty question, but I have to ask. You looked like crap, the other day, and to be honest you don’t look much better now. Are you... are you safe? To be around my kid?”

“Dan!” Chloe objected sharply. Lucifer hung his head and took a step back, clutching more firmly at the blanket.

“What?” Dan flung his hands into the air, exasperated. “He just body slammed our daughter onto the floor! You can’t tell me that didn’t worry you!”

“I’m not worried,” Chloe snapped, “of course he’s safe to have around Trixie.”

“Fine,” Dan sighed. He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “I trust you.” He didn’t have to say that his trust didn’t fully extend to Lucifer himself.

“I’m sorry about your clothes, Daniel,” Lucifer mumbled. “I’ll ask Maze to get my things. I owe her an apology anyway. Probably more than one.”

“Yeah she’s pissed at you,” Dan huffed out a commiserating laugh and missed Lucifer’s flinch. “Right,” he sighed, raising his arms in awkward surrender. “Well then. I’ll just... I’ll head out. You’re looking better, man. I’m...” he swallowed his first three word choices, “glad.”

“Have a good weekend,” Chloe nodded, herding him towards the door.

“Bye, Dad!” Trixie called from the kitchen. Dan shot a final, worried glance over his shoulder, and walked out, closing the door quietly behind him.

There was a long silence as Trixie bustled in the kitchen, clinking glasses together.

“I’m sorry,” Lucifer muttered, not quite sure what exactly he was apologizing for, but knowing he needed to.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Chloe said firmly, reaching out to touch his arm again. “Dan’s just... he needs time.”

“He’s right,” Lucifer shook his head, stepping away from her touch, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “I could have hurt her.”

“But you _didn’t_ ,” Chloe followed his retreat, not letting him escape.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he whispered, his chin quivering in desperation not to show any of the emotions tumbling in his chest on his face. “I shouldn’t risk—”

“You’re staying,” Chloe snapped. “You’re not leaving. You were gone for months, Lucifer, and you’re not going anywhere until I say you can!”

Lucifer clenched his teeth together.

“You can’t _make_ me stay,” he pulled back until his heels hit the wall, and Chloe saw panic rising in the whites of his eyes. She bit her lip, swallowing down her frustration.

“No,” she said soothingly, “I’m not trying to make you do anything. But I don’t want you to leave just because of Dan.”

“Oh,” he murmured, some of the tension leaking from his strained muscles.

“Yeah. I want you to stay. Please?”

“I... alright,” he sighed, and his eyes closed as he slumped back against the wall, exhaustion overtaking him again.

He felt gentle hands on his shoulders, guiding his stumbling steps back to the couch.

Soft cushions met his face as he half fell into them, already slipping back into sleep.

* * *

When Lucifer finally woke up again, it was late afternoon.

His head still felt heavy with exhaustion, but he could keep his eyes open, and he didn’t feel quite so much like he was going to keel over at any moment.

Careful of the dull ache in his ribs, he maneuvered himself off the couch and went in search of Chloe.

It was nice, he thought, to wake up into a cool, quiet room, nestled into a soft couch, and not have to fight anyone. Any quick naps he’d managed in Hell had been on the polished stone of his throne, thousands of feet above the ground, and had been ended abruptly by battle cries or, occasionally, a poorly advised assassination attempt from a particularly brave demon.

Every time he’d woken from what approximated for sleep in Hell, he’d had to fight.

So it was nice, strolling into the kitchen to watch Chloe make herself a cup of tea.

“Hello, Detective,” he greeted quietly. She turned towards him, her hair glinting slightly in the sunlight streaming through the open window.

“Hi,” she wiggled her fingers around the mug in what approximated for a wave.

Lucifer felt a rush of soft amusement and fondness and longing in his chest, and couldn’t stop himself from smiling widely.

“I was wondering if I might borrow your phone,” he asked. “I... misplaced mine in an unfortunate accident a little while ago.” He shuffled on his feet, a little sheepish.

Chloe caught his discomfort and narrowed her eyes, detective mode activated. A wide smile suddenly spread across her face.

“You dropped it off your throne, didn’t you?” She asked, grinning.

Lucifer rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“It fell out of my pocket!” He defended. “It’s hardly my fault that it couldn’t survive a thousand foot drop!”

“You’re such an idiot,” she chided fondly, reaching into her pocket for her own phone.

He took it with an uncharacteristically shy smile, and turned away to make his call.

As Dan had pointed out, he needed to get hold of his own clothes. And there was no way he was going to the penthouse to get them.

“Maze!” He greeted jovially, raising a hand to wave before realizing he was on the phone. “I was wondering if you could do me a service?”

“What’s up?” She said, disinterested.

“I find myself a little lacking in personal effects. While Daniel’s clothing is — well, it’s clothing — it’s hardly comfortable. Would you be able to bring me some things?”

“Whatever,” she practically audibly rolled her eyes, and the phone went silent.

“Excellent,” Lucifer turned back around to look at Chloe again. “Maze is bringing some clothes, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure,” Chloe smiled softly. “Want anything to eat?”

Lucifer felt the dull edge of hunger press into his stomach again, and nodded, heading to make omelettes as comfortably as though he’d done it in her kitchen a thousand times.

* * *

It wasn’t long before Maze burst through the door, carrying a duffle bag.

Chloe and Lucifer were sitting on the couch, her toes tucked under his thigh, as he munched on his twelfth slice of toast.

Maze stepped into the living room and inhaled deeply through her nose. Her eyes rolled back into her head in pleasure, lids fluttering.

“Hi, Maze,” Lucifer said quietly, his fingers tapping against his thigh. All the tension that had briefly left his body suddenly crowded in on him again. He could smell her, the harsh scent of demon permeating the air around her, even tempered with tendrils of Linda and freshly washed baby and Amenadiel’s divinity.

He shoved away the insistent images of Hell, of other demons, from his mind.

“It smells so _good_ in here,” she almost moaned, taking a few steps towards him to sniff more carefully. Lucifer stiffened, pressing his back more firmly into the couch to withdraw from her. “You smell wonderful. Not quite as good as the other night, but damn.”

“Yes. Well.”

“Can I have the clothes you were wearing?” She asked casually, a glint of longing in her eye. “They _reeked_.”

“I... I don’t...” Lucifer couldn’t form words around his rising horror. He could smell it on himself, the ash and the blood and the demons. His skin still stank to his sensitive nose, wafts of sulphur and acrid smoke assaulting his senses. An overwhelming feeling of being unclean washed over him. He felt the ash caking his skin, and he clenched his hands around the couch to stop himself clawing at his arms.

“I threw them away,” Chloe said, a little coldly. “They were soaked in his blood, Maze.”

Maze shrugged, abandoning the idea instantly.

“Here’s your stuff,” she chucked the back into his lap. It knocked the air out of him with a little oof, and he had to breathe in again, filling his lungs with the stench of demon.

He didn’t hear what she said next over the roaring of blood in his ears.

He could smell danger, could feel the squish of blood under his hands, could sense the narrowing of his vision until he was looking through a red tinged tunnel.

His heart thudded in his chest. His wings itched to be pulled forward, his tongue went numb with the effort of remaining in front of her.

It was too much. Too much to have her looking at him. To have her so close.

He knew she was different to the other demons. Knew she wasn’t going to attack unless he actually deserved it.

But he _did_ deserve it. He’d left her behind. He’d been cruel, and he’d abandoned her.

She _should_ be angry.

She _should_ be preparing her revenge.

He felt his breath hitch and catch in his throat as his body tensed.

“Lucifer? Are you okay?” Chloe’s voice came from the top of a well. He tried to scramble upwards, but he was frozen, restrained by the bite of chains around his wrists and wings.

“I... I’m sorry Maze...” he let out a shuddering breath and turned, stumbling away from the smell as it burned his throat. He clutched at the stair rail and hauled himself up, barely able to keep on his feet.

His vision kept whiting out, stars flashing behind his lids as he slammed his eyes shut. He barreled into the bathroom and stripped, yanking Dan’s clothes off his body with barely restrained revulsion. They’d been too close. Contaminated by the smell of Hell.

He kicked them out of the door and shut it, panic rising again as he was trapped inside.

No. He could open the door. He was not locked in.

He felt an urgent compulsion to check, and yanked the door open. The familiar corridor greeted him, the pile of stinking clothing still on the ground. He closed the door, and opened it again, with the same result.

This was Earth. This was Chloe’s house, Chloe’s upstairs landing, Chloe’s bathroom. This was not Hell. Even if the smell of demon wafted from the clothes outside, and from the demon downstairs. Just Maze.

He tried desperately to control his breathing, even as his heart thundered painfully fast and his chest ached with guilt and anxiety.

He turned on the shower, stepped under the stream, and started scrubbing desperately at his skin. He had to get it _off._ Had to wash away the crawling phantom fingers, the sharp pains of weapons splitting his flesh, the stench of Hell.

His skin was black with ash under his panicked eye. His arms shining and wet with blood.

He had to be clean.

He had to scrub, and scratch, and rub, until all traces of Hell were _gone_.

He had to be clean.

He didn’t feel the tears until she was there, stepping into the shower in an old t-shirt and pushing them off his face.

“Get it off me,” he begged, “please! Get it off!”

She took over, pushing his hands away from his body.

Her hands felt like balm on his feverish, freezing skin. She slowly, silently, washed his arms, and he noticed that the blood seemed to transfer to her hands.

He frowned.

He’d... he’d been sure he’d been imaging the blood.

He looked down at his arms, and saw the shallow abrasions on his skin.

Had he really been scrubbing that hard?

He felt his legs shake under him, and leaned back into the wall, almost like he had for that first shower, when Chloe had washed away the visible traces of Hell.

Her body wash smelled like flowers and honey, nothing like demon, or sulphur, or ash.

Silently, she turned off the shower and led him to stand by the sink. She handed him a towel, and he dried himself mechanically.

Once he was dry, awareness slowly came back to him, pulsing almost like pain at the front of his skull.

“You’re okay,” Chloe murmured, as though she knew he could hear her now. “Let’s get you in some clean clothes.”

She reached for the duffle bag which he hadn’t noticed as it rested on the toilet lid, and pulled out a plain white t-shirt.

He took it, running the cotton through his hands.

It was top quality, soft and supple, with no tags or seams to itch at his skin when he moved.

He pulled it over his head and it fit perfectly, not tight enough to hug his muscles, but not loose enough to sag anywhere.

She passed him black sweatpants, with two red stripes down the legs, and he pulled them on too, the fleece comforting against his legs as his skin cooled.

She pulled the matching black sweater over his head herself, and he slid his arms through the holes as she smoothed it across his chest.

He felt a little better, a little more himself, in clothes that fit.

He felt a sudden wave of gratitude to Maze, to _his_ demon, for not bringing suits. He wondered briefly how she’d known he wouldn’t want them, but the exhaustion came back in waves, crushing all thoughts.

Carefully, Chloe led him out of the bathroom and into her bedroom, boosting him slightly towards the bed.

As he crawled under the covers, overwhelmingly fatigued all over again, she drew the curtains to block out the last vestiges of sunlight from the room.

She lay down next to him, wrapping herself around the tight ball he’d contorted himself into. He was trembling, even bundled in all the blankets she could find, even under the thick sweatshirt and after half an hour under the stream of hot water.

She propped herself up on an elbow and tucked her legs around his, letting her hand settle in his hair. She carded her fingers through the slightly damp curls, letting the soft tresses slip easily through her fingers, her blunt nails scratching lightly at his scalp.

“What’re you doing?” He murmured into the pillow. Her hand stilled, hesitant.

“Playing with your hair,” she bit her lip. “You don’t like it?”

“I think I like it,” his eyes fluttered closed. “What is the—” he yawned widely, “what is the purpose?”

Chloe’s heart squeezed. Her poor Devil. So completely starved for comfort and attention that he was legitimately confused by affectionate touch.

“There’s no purpose,” she started again, brushing a stray wave away from his forehead. “It’s just relaxing.”

“I assure you, Detective, most people who put their hands in my hair have no desire to relax me,” he winked sleepily and let out a deep breath, some of the tension leaking from his body. “But this is... this is very nice...”

“Good,” she blinked back tears. They were silent for a few minutes, and the only sounds in the room were their gentle breathing and the tiny rasps of nails against scalp.

He felt safe.

Warm.

She smelled of lilies, coconuts and something sweet he couldn’t identify. The bed was warm and comfortable, his limbs relaxing instinctively into the mattress.

Chloe felt the moment he tensed back up again, just as he’d almost succumbed to sleep.

He rolled over so they were facing each other, still balled up tight so his torso fit in the curve of her body, his legs bent inwards in an attempt to keep every inch of him touching her.

He focused sadly on her face, his mouth a tight, upset little line. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for inevitable rejection.

“You don’t have to... you really don’t have to let me stay, you know. I’ll leave the second you ask me to. I... you don’t have to keep me.”

He closed his eyes, burying his face a little deeper into the crook of his arm, readying himself for the dreaded order to leave.

“I know,” she whispered, eyes misting up, “but I’m not letting you stay here out of some weird sense of obligation. I... I missed you. So much. I don’t think I can let you out of my sight just yet.” She leaned forward slightly and let their foreheads touch. They breathed in each other’s air.

“When I left...” he trailed off, swallowing thickly, “when I left for Hell. On the balcony. You... you asked me not to go.”

“I remember,” she said softly.

“You said... you told me... you said that you...” he couldn’t say it out loud. If he said it, it would be over.

“I told you I love you?” She prompted, pressing a hand to his chest.

“Yeah,” he let out a shaky breath, exhaustion blurring the edges of his vision. “Was that... was that just to get me to stay? Or... or did you... do you...”

Chloe’s chest felt tight. How could he believe that she’d say that, just to get him to stay? But, she supposed, too many things in his life had been manipulation.

“I meant it, Luce,” she whispered, the nickname slipping out, “I still mean it. If you want.”

“I... I do,” he choked off a small, hopeful, miserable sound.

“Please stay,” she kissed his shoulder lightly, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

“Anything,” he breathed, burrowing impossibly further into her until they were hopelessly entangled, his eyes sliding closed against her chest. “Anything for you.”

* * *

Chloe stayed wrapped around Lucifer until she was sure he was properly asleep. His limbs had relaxed enough that his legs were no longer clinging to hers, and his breaths were deep and even. His mouth had fallen open just a little, and the worried lines on his forehead had smoothed out.

Carefully, Chloe disentangled herself from his clingy embrace. She dropped a small kiss to the top of his head as she tiptoed away, leaving the door half open on her way out.

She felt almost as tired as Lucifer looked as she gathered up materials for her and Trixie’s dinner. It was barely seven in the evening, and she’d spent the vast majority of the day quietly watching television with her daughter while the Devil slept on her couch.

A year ago, she would have laughed if anyone had suggested something so ridiculous.

“Hey, Mom?” Trixie slid onto one of the bar stools and rested her head in her hands.

“What’s up, baby?” Chloe abandoned the pepper she was cutting and mirrored her daughter’s pose across the counter, trying for a warm smile.

“Is he gonna be okay?”

“Lucifer? He’s going to be fine, I promise. He’s just had a pretty tough time the last couple of months, and he’s really tired.”

Trixie rolled her eyes a little.

“Going to Hell is a little more than a tough time, Mom,” she pointed out.

Chloe’s jaw dropped a little, completely blindsided.

“Wait, you know?”

“Know what?”

“That Lucifer’s...” her voice dropped to a whisper, even though they were the only ones there, “the Devil?”

“Duh,” she raised an eyebrow. “His name is _Lucifer_ , Mom.”

“You... you knew? The whole time we’ve known him, you believed he was the Devil?”

“Of course I did,” Trixie rolled her eyes. “He told me!”

“And you just believed him?”

“Lucifer doesn’t lie,” she said firmly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Chloe took hold of her shoulders and shook her, once. Gently. Trixie stepped away, sliding down from the barstool.

“Are you serious?” Trixie scowled incredulously. “Mom, we have an entire drawer full of devil drawings. I’ve been telling you he’s the Devil since I was seven! He’s been telling you. Maze told you. It’s not our fault you didn’t believe us.”

Hearing her daughter so casually put herself firmly on the side of the Devil and the demon sucked a little breath from her lungs. The three of them were an _us_ , and she was the one on the outside. The one who never believed anything they said. The one who’d thought it was all some great joke, or a fantastical delusion, until it had come crashing down around her.

“What about in Rome?” Chloe whispered.

“Do you mean when you were off talking to exorcists?” Trixie pursed her lips, frowning accusingly.

Chloe’s hands dropped from where they’d still been reaching for her daughter’s shoulders. She’d known. The whole time, she’d known.

“Why... why didn’t you say anything?” Chloe croaked bitterly.

“When was I supposed to talk to you?” She crossed her arms around her chest, half in defense and half in accusation. “When you left the hotel room before I woke up in the morning, or when you got back after I fell asleep?”

Chloe recoiled. Had she done that?

“I... I thought I needed to...”

“Yeah, I’m sure you wanted to save the world,” Trixie scowled a little again. “He’s just Lucifer. He’s not even scary.”

“I... I know that, now.”

“Good.” Trixie said firmly, giving her mother a look that made it clear she was not to be messed with.

“So, um...”

“He’s back,” a little of her previous excitement lit her face.

“He’s back,” Chloe confirmed.

“He looks really, really tired,” Trixie frowned again, the excitement giving way to worry.

“Yeah. He needs to catch up on some sleep, and eat lots of food. He’s probably going to be a little unhappy for a while. Kind of like Dad after Charlotte? Or like—”

“Or like you, after Lucifer,” Trixie smiled sadly up at her, and took her seat back at the counter.

“Yeah,” Chloe breathed. She forced a smile, winking conspiratorially at her daughter. “I think he’s gonna need a lot of Trixie hugs.”

“He’ll be okay. I’ve been subtly training him in the art of cuddles for years,” Trixie grinned. “I’m like a ninja.”


	5. Nightmares and Blankets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer woke up feeling rested for the first time in hundreds of years.
> 
> He also woke up feeling tired of the sheer number of times he’d fallen asleep and woken up since he’d come back to Earth. Sleeping for days at a time hadn’t really been part of his reunification plan.

He woke to the sound of a strangled, pitiful cry for help in a language that had no place on Earth. He sat up so quickly he almost hit himself in the face, his head whipping sideways to try and identify who was hurt. His heart was pounding wildly, his breaths uneven and shallow.

“Luce? Can you...?” Chloe. Chloe was in danger. He turned to her, and his mouth fell open.

Three shallow cuts rent the pale skin across her collarbone. They were barely bleeding, but he saw them ten times larger than they really were, slashes across her chest. He could smell Hell, could feel the ash on his skin, could hear the demons in the shadows.

His wings were out. And one of them was hovering above Chloe, the primary feathers sharp and drawn for battle.

He had done that. He had cut her.

Lucifer scrambled backwards off the bed, landing sprawling on the floor. He had hurt her.

“Lucifer, it’s okay, I’m okay,” she intoned, leaning over the side of the bed to see him. “You were shouting. Were you having a nightmare?”

How could she possibly sound concerned for him? How could she sit there, looking at him with such... sympathy, with long scratches across her chest?

“Can you take some breaths for me? I promise I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry,” his eyes were wild with panic, and he couldn’t see. Everything was blurry and spinning, and he felt sweat dripping down his back, dampening his forehead.

“It’s okay,” she spoke so softy, so gently. He had hurt her. “Take a breath?”

He sucked in air like a dying man and pulled himself to his feet, withdrawing his wings with a pained roll of his shoulders.

“I’ll go,” he whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to go!” She jumped out of bed, her worn out LAPD fun-run t-shirt hanging over a pair of his black silk boxers. He pulled back when she tried to touch him. He did not deserve her touches. He couldn’t make eye contact, and he backed away, tripping over his own feet.

“Please don’t go,” she reached for his shoulder, and he flinched back again, groping for the door behind him. She had asked him not to leave, and he couldn’t fail to do what she asked, not when a tiny droplet of blood teared up on the topmost cut on her chest.

“I’ll be on the couch,” he mumbled, slumping slightly against the wall as he fumbled his way out of the room.

“Okay. That’s okay. Do you want tea?”

“No,” he said quickly. She shouldn’t lose sleep over him. “I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you, babe, you didn’t mean to.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he heard the brokenness in his own voice. Cursing himself, he stumbled from the room and almost fell down the short set of stairs leading to the living room.

Shaking, the pounding silence of Hell and the cruel whispers of demons still echoing in his ears, he collapsed face first onto the couch. He’d hurt her. He was so tired. He shouldn’t sleep. He was a danger to everyone in his sleep. He came with weapons built in, and he had no control.

He was so tired. He didn’t want to go back to sleep.

He didn’t want to go back to the cells. He didn’t want to feel the iron digging into his wrists.

He didn’t want to sleep. He was so tired.

* * *

A small hand shook his shoulder. Demons sank fingernails into his skin, ripping and tearing and hurting. The hand was warm.

“Lucifer?” A small voice came from far away, “Lucifer, I think you’re having a bad dream.”

Dreaming. Dreaming meant it wasn’t real. He yanked his eyes open, wrenching a gasp from his throat, his heart pounding painfully between his ribs. He’d ruin the organ if he kept going like this near the Detective. “Are you okay?”

He’d been asked that so many times. Trixie was kneeling by his shoulder, her hand still resting on him. His arms were clutched around his head in a desperate, last ditch effort to protect himself, fingers clenched in his hair, his face buried in the cushion.

“Just... just a dream,” he croaked. Dull nails clawing through the scars on his back, digging for his wings.

“I thought I heard... never mind.” The spawn bit her lip. Lucifer knew what she had heard. Him, whimpering and begging like a beaten whelp, pathetic and small against invisible forces in his head.

Shame washed through him.

Weakness.

The cold bit back through his veins, and he shivered, wishing he’d grabbed the blanket off Chloe’s bed before he’d ran.

Trixie turned around and sat down on the floor, leaning back against the couch at his hip. Blood and ash and the darkness of the cell, lit by demon eyes, silence broken only by their laughter and the crack of the whip against his flesh and the occasional scream he was too weak to hold back.

“I’m really glad you’re home, Lucifer,” she whispered.

“I...” his voice disappeared for a moment. A metal gag forcing his tongue down because he _wouldn’t stop talking_.

“You don’t have to say anything. But Mom is so much better around you.”

“Better how?”

“The whole time you were gone... it was like she was gone too. She was always leaving the iron on, or not waking up to take me to school, or forgetting to eat dinner. She barely even went to work.”

“I’m sorry,” Lucifer mumbled into the pillow. He had ruined their lives. He had caused the child pain. Trixie sighed.

“It’s no one’s fault,” she leant her head back against the couch. “The therapist at school said sometimes stuff like that happens after something bad.”

“You have a therapist?”

“This is LA,” Trixie smiled coyly, “everyone has a therapist.”

Lucifer opened his eyes in surprise, and laughed. He hadn’t laughed in ages, and it ached in his side. Trixie giggled and moved her head so it rested against his hip. Lucifer’s hand hovered over her head for a second, and then he lowered it, resting on her hair.

“I really missed you,” she closed her eyes, leaning into his touch.

“I missed you too, spawn,” he smiled into the pillow.

“Please don’t leave again.”

“I... I’ll try not to,” he choked a little on the words. She wanted him to stay? After everything?

“Can I sleep out here? On the other couch?”

“If that is what you desire,” he shrugged noncommittally, a warm ache spreading through his chest, pushing back the overwhelming cold just a little.

“Okay,” she stood up and went back to her bedroom, coming back with her pillow and two blankets. “Want one?”

“Sure,” he accepted the blanket and draped it over himself. His feet stuck out at the end, and he curled slightly under it, covering himself. Trixie set herself up on the other couch, and they lay in silence for a while.

“I have nightmares too, sometimes,” she whispered into the dark.

“Oh,” he whispered back.

“Yeah. Mostly about Marcus. Or that time I got kidnapped. I... I saw you get shot.”

“You saw?”

“I was watching from behind some boxes. Mommy told me to hide.”

“You shouldn’t have seen that. I’m sorry,” he buried his face back down in the pillow. That was his fault, too. If he hadn’t drop kicked himself into their lives, the spawn would be having a normal, human childhood. Not dreaming of shootings and hanging around with celestials and riding the public bus to school because her mother missed Satan too much to get out of bed.

“Me too,” she shifted under the blanket, rustling the couch. “But nightmares are just the brain’s way of processing, my therapist says. And mine are getting better. Yours will too.”

“So my therapist tells me,” he huffed. Trixie giggled again.

“Let’s have good dreams,” she whispered into the room.

“Okay,” he pulled the blanket a little tighter around his shoulders. Surprisingly, he did.

* * *

Lucifer woke up feeling rested for the first time in hundreds of years.

He also woke up feeling tired of the sheer number of times he’d fallen asleep and woken up since he’d come back to Earth. Sleeping for days at a time hadn’t really been part of his reunification plan.

Then again, nor had his final stint in the cells. Or the overwhelming amount of divinity he’d needed to heal himself after he’d already used it all sealing the Gates.

Trixie was still asleep on the other couch, her hair in her face and her arm dangling off the side.

Lucifer smiled a little, standing up and folding the blanket over the side of his couch.

He wasn’t quite so cold anymore. The incessant shivering seemed to have stopped, but he could still feel the numbness in his chest, and the coolness of his skin.

He was still absolutely starving.

As quietly as he could, he padded through into the kitchen. He needed to make amends to Chloe. Needed to make up for the fact that he had nearly decapitated her in the middle of a stupid dream.

He clenched his fists as his hands started to shake, and moved around the kitchen in silence, pulling out ingredients for bacon and eggs.

His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

He hadn’t injured her, he tried to argue with the rising tide of nausea in his stomach.

He’d hurt her, though. Made her bleed. Woken her up in the middle of the night with screaming and pain.

Lucifer felt his breathing accelerate, his heart thumping harder against his ribs.

This was ridiculous. Nothing was even happening.

But he’d _hurt_ her.

The memory of that single drop of blood welling at the top of a wound _he_ had put across her chest was seared into the space behind his eyes.

He wrapped his arms around his chest and tried to calm himself down. Tried to slow down the ridiculous thudding of his heart.

He couldn’t do it.

Almost without thinking, Lucifer grabbed the landline phone from the kitchen counter and dialed a familiar number.

He stumbled towards the back door, and stepped outside just as Linda answered the phone.

“Doctor Linda!” He tried to sound jovial, carefree, but he heard the waver in his voice and the shallow breathing echoing through the phone line.

“Lucifer? Are you okay?” She sounded sleepy. Lucifer looked around. It wasn’t even dawn, the sun still hidden behind the horizon. He had no idea what day it was, but he knew that if it’d been during the week, Chloe would have woken up by then.

“Apologies, Doctor,” he said quietly, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s alright,” she yawned slightly, audibly smothering it with a hand. “I’m glad you called. I missed you.”

Lucifer swallowed the thick lump of emotion in his throat.

“I missed you too,” he croaked out.

“Are you feeling better?”

“I... I’m all healed up,” he rubbed the back of his neck. Physically, he was indescribably better.

“How about otherwise?” She asked gently.

“I... I... I had a nightmare, last night,” he whispered, his blood thundering through his veins. “My... my wings came out, and I... cut Chloe.”

“Is she okay?” Linda came to full alertness.

“I cut her,” Lucifer repeated.

“But did you hurt her?” Linda seemed much calmer for some reason, like she’d figured something out that Lucifer hadn’t.

“She... she said she was fine...” he looked down at his hand. He was still shaking.

“Lucifer, I’m hearing that you’re not breathing very well. Are you feeling alright?”

He felt his heart rate pick up even further. He couldn’t respond, his throat tight and his chest agonizingly heavy.

“Okay, I’d like you to take some breaths with me, can you do that?”

Lucifer nodded, hoping the movement would register over the phone.

“Good. We’re going to take in a deep breath, and hold it for three seconds, alright? Then we’re going to let it out really slowly, and count to ten.”

Lucifer breathed as she counted out loud.

Slowly, the buzzing in his head died down a little, and his heart relented into a steady rhythm that was only a bit too fast.

“Good,” Linda said comfortingly. “Has that been happening a lot?”

“Yeah,” he responded after a moment, his voice embarrassingly weak.

“Okay. Let me tell you a few things that might help.”

They talked for half an hour or so, Linda teaching him various visualization and breathing techniques to help deal with the horrible feeling that kept sweeping over his body.

Eventually, they made an appointment for the following week, and Lucifer hung up.

He took a moment to lean against the house, practicing breathing like he’d been instructed. He tried to let his thoughts flow through his mind without getting too focused on them, and it helped, a little.

He heard the back door open, and span around, ready to defend himself again.

“Hi,” Chloe smiled, “I saw you got the bacon out. Did you want breakfast?”

* * *

Once they’d eaten, and Lucifer had cleaned up all the dishes while Chloe and Trixie got dressed, Chloe brought the duffel bag downstairs and set it on the couch.

“Maze said she got you a new phone,” she explained as Lucifer came over. “We should probably set it up, so you’re not dependent on my land line.”

Lucifer flushed a little.

“Apologies, Detective,” he rubbed the back of his neck before yanking his hand away. It wouldn’t do to start a new nervous habit. His old ones were plenty.

Chloe just smiled her sympathetic smile, and sat down on the couch, patting the space beside her.

Lucifer sat, a little closer than he would have done before, and Trixie threw herself down on his other side, and leaned against his shoulder, a solid wall of gentle warmth against the coolness of his skin. He pulled the bag towards him and unzipped it.

Maze knew him too well.

Inside, there was another stack of t-shirts like the one he was wearing, another few pairs of sweatpants, black silk boxers, socks, a comfy looking hoodie, a pair of sneakers, a pair of dark jeans, and enough hair product to keep him in business for weeks.

There were no suits, and Lucifer was absurdly grateful.

Right at the bottom of the bag was a small cardboard box.

“Ooo,” Trixie leaned over to look, “she got you the new iPhone! I didn’t even think that was out yet!”

“Of course,” Lucifer raised an eyebrow, “I always have the latest Apple products. Obnoxiously expensive, luxuriously designed, and named for temptation? How could I buy anything else? Besides, Steve’s loop was quite entertaining.”

“Of course you found a way to make a brand name all about you,” Chloe chuckled, ruffling his hair a little with her breath.

“Of course it’s about me,” Lucifer rolled his eyes. “The symbolism is very clear, Detective. An apple with one bite removed? Isn’t that the story you people have in your little Bible?”

“I mean, sure, but _still_!”

“Well, it’s not like they’re totally wrong,” Lucifer considered, turning on the phone. It wasn’t an apple, and I didn’t tempt Eve into eating it, and I wasn’t actually the Devil at the time, but there _was_ fruit consumed, and that _is_ how Eden fell.”

“Wow. I feel like we have to unpack that,” Chloe watched him register his fingerprint, turning his thumb slowly and pressing down on the home button over and over, scowling slightly when it kept rejecting his efforts.

“Which part, darling?” He said distractedly.

“You weren’t the Devil in Eden?”

“Hmm? No. I hadn’t Fallen by then. I was just messing around with Michael. We weren’t really allowed on the Mortal Plane, but the two of us always got away with it before that.”

“What happened, then?”

Lucifer shifted awkwardly, his thumb hovering over the language selection before settling on Japanese.

“Eve was unhappy,” he said simply. “Dad made her for Adam, but He didn’t make Adam for her. She hated him. Identical twin angels were a much more exciting prospect.”

Chloe snorted.

“Yeah, I bet,” she wheezed a little. “Wait? Identical twins?”

He hummed, nodding in agreement without speaking. He had no interest in talking about Michael.

Lucifer opened up the contacts app, and started programming numbers into his speed dial from memory.

Trixie only gave him about three seconds before she leaned over and took the phone, settling back down with her head on his lap.

“We’re giving everyone nicknames,” she announced, flipping the keyboard to English effortlessly.

“We are not,” Lucifer objected.

“How can you send texts that are just emojis but not want everyone’s contact to be a nickname?” She rolled her eyes. “I’m Spawn, obviously. Mom can be Detective, and Linda can be Doctor. What do you want for Amenadiel?”

“I have no idea, urchin,” Lucifer absentmindedly rested his hand across her head, just as he’d done the night before, and Chloe felt her heart melt.

“He can just be Angel Boy, then. Maze is obviously Badass Demon. What do you call Dad, again?”

“Detective Douche,” Lucifer supplied, and Trixie giggled as she typed it in.

“Ella can be...”

“Miss Lopez doesn’t need a nickname,” Lucifer drew himself up a little.

“Fine. You’re boring.”

“I am not!” Lucifer almost pouted, and Chloe had to stifle a laugh, not wanting to interrupt their moment.

“Lucifer, are these all your contacts?”

“In my personal phone, yes. I assure you, my business phone has a much more... illustrated list.”

Trixie giggled and handed it back.

“Alright Trix, go get ready, Sara’s Mom will be over in about ten minutes to take you guys to Spanish.”

Trixie rolled off Lucifer with a groan, and Lucifer felt a little colder without her head on his lap.

“Do I _have_ to go?”

“Yeah, baby. You want to keep being able to talk to Abuela, right?”

“Yeah, I guess,” she shrugged.

“Go on then,” Chloe shooed her away, grinning. Trixie huffed and went to her room with exaggerated slowness.

Once the door was shut again, Chloe leant her head on Lucifer’s shoulder.

“I thought we could go on a little outing,” she suggested. Lucifer stiffened under her.

He glanced out of the window, and breathed like Linda had suggested.

He didn’t quite know why the prospect of going out sparked that familiar feeling of dread in him. It wasn’t like anything in Hell had been made to look like the streets of LA.

“We don’t have to,” Chloe bit her lip. Lucifer steeled himself. He was not going to be swayed by whatever this niggling fear was. He was not afraid.

“Of course, Detective. Where were you thinking?”

Chloe’s shoulders relaxed, and her nervous look blossomed into a smile.

“I just need to run to the home store. Trixie managed to stab about half the cushions, and I burned through the ironing board a couple of weeks ago, so we’re a little low on, you know, normal stuff.”

Lucifer’s eyes crinkled in confusion, and Chloe itched to reach up and smooth out the tiny wrinkles.

“And you purchase these things from a home store?”

“I mean, yeah?”

“Oh, alright. If we must.”

“Okay. Great.”

* * *

Lucifer disappeared upstairs when Trixie’s friend rang the doorbell to pick her up, and didn’t come back down until the children were gone.

Chloe did a tiny double take when he reappeared. He’d changed from sweatpants to jeans, and slicked his hair into a more wavy version of his usual style. He didn’t have anything to straighten out his curls at her place.

His stubble was still longer and darker than usual, his face still a little too pale, but Chloe’s heart kicked up when he descended the stairs in the black jeans and his black sweater, white t-shirt just visible under the crew neck.

His sleek new sneakers squeaked slightly on the stairs.

There was something so rare about him looking causal but not half dead that she couldn’t breathe for a moment. It suited him.

Giving her head a little shake, she turned away and opened the front door, grabbing her car keys on the way out. She got half way to the car before she realized he hadn’t followed.

“Lucifer?” She turned back, bracing herself for some kind of minor disaster.

He was standing a few feet outside the front door, where the shadow of the porch ended and the sunlight of the bright LA day began.

His face was tilted up to the sky, his eyes closed and fluttering, his mouth turned just up in a small, serene smile. His arms had spread subconsciously up and out, as though ready to embrace. The sun hit his face, and Chloe could have sworn he _glowed_.

She stared at him, open mouthed, for at least ten full seconds. She had never seen him look so... peaceful.

“Lucifer?” She asked quietly, stepping back to stand near him.

“Hmm?” He opened his eyes and blinked languidly down at her, the smile lingering on his face. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“The sun?”

“Mmm,” he hummed. “Stunning. I... was quite proud of it.”

Of course. Because her partner had made the stars. Before time really got going. Because he was an angel. She’d read that in Rome too, the revelation lost under piles of half goat monsters eating children and laughing manically over lakes of fire.

Suddenly, she connected the angel in front of her with the bringer of light to the universe, and it blew her little human mind.

“You should be,” she croaked.

“Indeed,” his smile morphed into something more familiar. “I... I was thinking.”

“Oh yeah?”

“There are things... things I missed. When I was in Hell. Things I thought about doing.”

“What kind of things?” She asked, her hand reaching out to touch his chest.

“I want... I want to take you stargazing. And I want to go to the beach.” He sounded hesitant, as though those weren’t wonderful, perfect ways to spend their time. “It could be... the return on our deal. If it’s okay, with you.”

“I’d love that,” she leaned into him, lifting her face to look up at the sky too.

“You can’t see them, in Hell. The stars.”

He said it so quietly that if she hadn’t been leaning right into his chest, she wouldn’t have heard.

Her heart broke a little more.

He had lit the heavens, and then spent an eternity unable to see the sky.

“I’ll get you all the stars you want, Lucifer. You’re going to get so sick of stargazing with me that we’ll have to bring the whole gang along, just to make it interesting.”

“I could never get sick of either. You or the stars.” And wasn’t that just the most romantic thing she’d ever heard?

“Me neither,” she whispered, patting his stomach.

* * *

Lucifer hadn’t quite anticipated how large and crowded the store would be.

The aisles seemed to go on forever, endless corridors of random items in different styles and colors, waiting to be selected and purchased.

Lucifer had never really enjoyed shopping, not in the modern world. He’d loved the sprawl of outdoor markets, back when everything was made and designed rather than assembled en mass.

Lucifer trailed along behind Chloe, adding anything that caught his eye to the cart.

“Lucifer, I really don’t need a wall clock,” she objected as he hefted it off the shelf.

“You have my credit card, correct? Then I insist on trying to make your home look a little less like the only occupant is an eleven year old girl.”

Chloe rolled her eyes, but warmed up to the idea as she realized what he was doing. Every item he added to the cart was something that seemed oddly a little of her, and a little of him. The clock was her favorite muted grey and beige color scheme, but with Roman numerals, which would have fitted in his own home.

The large green spider plant was the perfect size to fit next to the couch, the ceramic pot striped in blue and red.

Chloe got into the spirit of it, a little, and when they passed the wall of mugs, she grabbed one and shoved it at his chest, grinning.

Lucifer stared at it.

The mug was black on the outside and red on the inside, but it was the slogan across the front that had Chloe laughing.

“ _Handsome Devil_ ,” Lucifer read out loud, tracing the outline of little devil horns over the words. He turned the mug in his hands to look at the back. “ _One Helluva Guy_. Detective, this is absolute rubbish.”

“You’re the one who insisted I spend all your fancy credit card money,” she grinned, plucking the mug from him and placing it gently in the cart.

Lucifer scoffed, but the smile he flashed her right after was so soft that it completely negated any protest he might have been about to make.

Chloe leaned in a little and bumped their shoulders together as they meandered towards the soft furnishings.

She was debating between yellow and blue stripes and beige cushions when Lucifer wandered off.

She glanced up to find him, a tiny spike of anxiety rising in her chest when he wasn’t right beside her, and found him at a stack of blankets at the other end of the aisle. She let out a soft sigh of relief and left him to it.

Lucifer winced a little as his fingers ran across synthetic fleece and unnaturally soft wool. He wasn’t really looking for anything. The blankets at Chloe’s house were fine, and he’d been bundled up in the gray fleece of her favorite one since he’d come back. It was doing a perfectly adequate job of keeping him warm.

Except that he was still _freezing_ , and it felt scratchy against his skin.

He moved on to the next stack, all blacks and grays, and his fingers stuttered to a halt.

He carefully fingered the thick strands of wool on the black blanket, and felt a little warm feeling settle deep in his chest, his divinity shuddering just a tiny bit in recognition.

It felt like feathers.

Lucifer wrenched his hand back, despising himself for the surge of longing that seemed to touch every cell of his body, tingling at the tips of his wings.

He turned away, back to Chloe, back to things that weren’t fake human blankets that felt just a little too much like angel wings.

That looked a little too much like Michael’s feathers.

He didn’t want it. He would not allow himself to want it. Wanting had always led to disappointment, to pain, to millions of years of agonized fear.

He did not want it.

“Find anything?” Chloe placed the blue and gold cushions into their cart and turned her small, bright smile on him.

“No,” he said, a little coldly, a little too quickly. She frowned.

“Are you sure? Cause my shitty blanket can’t be that warm, and you were over by the blankets. I thought maybe you’d find something nicer?”

“No!” He snapped. “I don’t want it.”

“Okay, okay,” she put her hands up defensively. “Jeez, I was only asking.”

Lucifer glared at her.

“I don’t want it,” he repeated.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” she shook her head.

Lucifer shoved a hand through his hair and turned away, back to the rest of the aisle. His eyes were drawn inexorably to the damned blanket, and his traitorous fingers itched to reach out for it again.

He hated the idea that he wanted it. The idea that it would feel nice, and warm, and comfortable over his shoulders. Hated the idea that it would be almost like having his siblings back. Like having Michael back.

Before he’d even realized what he was doing, he’d pulled the blanket off the shelf.

It was a perfect weight. Perfectly soft. Perfectly balanced.

“It’s nice,” Chloe said quietly over his shoulder.

“I don’t want it.”

“It kind of seems like you do? It’s not like you to suppress a desire,” she said, almost teasingly, “you’ll get a bad reputation.”

Lucifer scoffed, half amused, half irritated.

“Come on, it’ll look good on the couch.”

“Nothing in your home is black, Detective, it would look ridiculous.”

“Nope,” she popped her tongue, “I like it. If you don’t want it, I’ll get it.”

Lucifer bit down hard at the inside of his lip.

“Fine,” he almost spat, shoving the blanket into her arms. “You get it, then.”

Chloe grinned.

Lucifer crossed his arms over his chest. He really, really wanted the damned blanket.

* * *

He absolutely refused to take it out of the bag and wrap it around himself in the car.

“I am not an invalid, Detective. I can last an hour without being wrapped up.”

“Of course you can,” she soothed, settling into the driver’s seat and pointedly ignoring the little shivers running down his arms.

They drove back in a slightly awkward quiet, and stopped at a Chinese place to grab dinner.

It wasn’t until they got back to the house that Chloe brought it up again. She pulled the blanket out of the bag and threw away the wrappings before curling up on her side of the couch and wrapping it around her shoulders, the fluffy side that felt almost like feathers touching her skin.

She opened one arm to him, and raised an eyebrow.

“Want to know what I desire right now?” She asked playfully. Lucifer hovered near the couch and raised an eyebrow. “I want to watch TV, eat Chinese food and sit next to you until Trixie comes home. Will you do that with me?”

Lucifer couldn’t think of anything he’d like more, but he didn’t move.

Curling up under that blanket would be an admission of defeat. An admission that the pull he’d felt towards synthetic human fibers was enough to set the gnawing ache for his siblings ablaze in his chest. It would be admitting that he missed them so much that fake feathers were enough to satisfy some of that want.

“Come on,” she wheedled, “don’t deny your desires, Luce. Don’t let whatever bad feelings you’re having right now get in the way of whatever comfort you think this is going to give you. I know you want to.”

Lucifer let out a sharp sigh, and admitted defeat.

He curled up under her arm, and pulled the blanket over him.

She wrapped him up a little tighter, and put her arm over his shoulders, one thumb reaching out to rub circles in his hair.

Lucifer ran his fingers over the inside of the blanket, the familiar motions of grooming suddenly coming back to him.

He hadn’t groomed another wing since Heaven.

It wasn’t the same. It didn’t pull at his divinity, or send the divine warmth through his body. It didn’t pull the other angel’s feelings and emotions into his mind. It didn’t do anything.

But it felt achingly _nice_.

“I told you there’s no sleeping in Heaven,” he said hesitantly, his fingers wrapping delicately around one of the feathery strands, “but we did rest. We’d all pile up together on the grass and just lie down for a while. Basking in Mum and Dad’s light. Mum... Mum would sing, and we’d all join in, quietly enough not to disturb anyone else. I’d... Michael and I would lie together, wrapped in each other’s wings. We were always together,” his voice broke slightly, and Chloe captured his hand, squeezing tight. “I haven’t... felt peace, like that. Not until you.”

“That sounds lovely, Lucifer.”

“It—” his voice broke again, and his fingers worked through the feathers, “it really was.”


	6. Handsome Devil Cop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you sure you’re ready to go back to work?” Chloe bit her lip as he knelt on one knee to tie his shoe.
> 
> “Of course, Detective! Can’t wait to get back to our Good Cop, Handsome Devil Cop routine!” He stood up slowly, like he was still bracing his middle against unhealed pain, and clapped his hands together. “Are you ready?”
> 
> “If you’re sure,” she smiled nervously up at him, and he landed a quick kiss on her forehead before stepping away, looking a little embarrassed. A little wary. Like he didn’t have the right to kiss her like that, even after everything.

“Are you sure you’re ready to go back to work?” Chloe bit her lip as he knelt on one knee to tie his shoe.

“Of course, Detective! Can’t wait to get back to our Good Cop, Handsome Devil Cop routine!” He stood up slowly, like he was still bracing his middle against unhealed pain, and clapped his hands together. “Are you ready?”

“If you’re sure,” she smiled nervously up at him, and he landed a quick kiss on her forehead before stepping away, looking a little embarrassed. A little wary. Like he didn’t have the right to kiss her like that, even after everything.

With a deep breath and a quick internal cataloging of the consequences of her actions, Chloe pulled him back by the front of his t-shirt and kissed him full on the mouth.

It wasn’t a long kiss. Or a particularly deep one. His skin was still cold, and his hands darted up to his sides like she’d surprised him.

But it was soft. And sweet. And he tasted of cinnamon oatmeal and minty toothpaste.

It sucked all of Chloe’s breath away.

“Detective,” he breathed as they broke apart. He looked for a moment as though he was going to say something else, but he shook his head minutely and settled on, “I thought you wanted to be on time this morning!”

“I do,” she smiled wider, reveling in the warm feeling he caused in her stomach. “Let’s go.”

“If you insist,” he smirked, looking her up and down in that way she used to think was gross, and now found irresistibly attractive.

Chloe brushed two fingers against her lips, a heady feeling of finally, _finally_ getting what she’d wanted for ages washing over her as she watched his face dissolve into a goofy smile.

If they didn’t leave, _right now_ , they wouldn’t get into work for hours.

It was still dusky outside, the sun not set to rise for another half hour. They’d woken up early, to give them plenty of time to head over to Lux and get Lucifer’s real clothes. He couldn’t exactly show up to the precinct in sweatpants and a t-shirt, and he absolutely refused to do so with his hair curly and untamed, and without eyeliner and a chance to trim and clean his nails.

Chloe had brought along a spare bottle of her conditioner for their shower, hoping that mixing his own scents with hers would be good for him.

The short drive to Lux was mostly silent. It was a comfortable quiet, and Chloe basked in their new found ability to just _be_ with each other. Even before Hell, every silence had been filled with one or both of them attempting to entertain the other. She was content, in the quiet of her car, with him by her side.

Lucifer didn’t know how to fill the silence. His mind was too far away, focused on his penthouse as they covered the miles. He couldn’t quite shake the fear of going back to that room. He’d spent so long in the mocking imitation of it, in Hell.

He’d killed his brother, over and over again.

He’d watched Chloe cry as he left for Hell.

He’d had his leathery wings sprout from his back, so many hundreds of times he was surprised he could maintain white feathers at all.

He’d betrayed Mom, he’d fought with Amenadiel, he’d had Maze lean in so, so close and tell him how she’d broken his mind.

Hell never seemed to run out of scenarios for him in that room.

They walked up from the garage in silence, but as they were getting into the elevator, Chloe’s fingers wrapped around his, threading through and melding their hands together.

He looked down in surprise, and then his eyes flicked to meet hers.

“Okay?” She asked softly, one eyebrow raised just a little. He squeezed her hand.

“Okay.” He nodded firmly, pressing the top button to take them up to the penthouse.

The elevator doors opened with a quiet ding, and Lucifer stepped into the real version of his home for the first time in centuries.

Everything was exactly as he’d left it, down to the quarter full tumbler of whiskey on the bar top.

Someone had clearly been in to clean a couple of times. There was no dust, no sign that it had been unoccupied for two months.

He breathed, taking in the clean scent of alcohol and disinfectant, the hints of cedar wood and citrus.

He glanced out of the window, and saw the real Los Angeles just as the sun was starting to break over the horizon.

There were real people in the city.

This was not Hell.

Then the elevator doors slid shut behind him, and none of it mattered because he was _trapped_. Trapped, like he’d so often been trapped. Trapped, because he’d been defeated, again, and some faction of demons had dragged him, either fighting and screaming or unconscious, back to his door.

The ultimate weapon against their guilty king.

Lucifer span around and smashed his hand into the call button, summoning the elevator back.

It came, the doors parting, just like they should in the real world.

He breathed, the tightness in his chest releasing somewhat.

And then they closed, and his breathing shallowed out as he hit the button again, panic rising through his body and pounding in his skull.

The doors opened, and he trembled in relived exhaustion.

And then, because he was an idiot and he didn’t know how fucking elevators worked and everything was falling apart and he was in Hell and they were coming and he was going to have to kill, the doors closed.

He stabbed the button, panic blinding him, his hands shaking as he balled them into fists, and the doors didn’t open. They didn’t open. He was trapped, and it was Hell, and how could he have been so stupid as to have walked back in here?

How could he have believed that anything past the hallucination of breaking his chains in his cell had been real?

He was trapped, and they were coming, and he was... he was...

He jabbed the button, over and over, and the doors didn’t open.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, _no_!” He chanted, his voice getting louder and thinner with each iteration.

Lucifer slammed his hand against the call button again and again and again, desperately summoning the only way out, the only way to escape the endless years of torment if he was trapped.

He didn’t dare turn to see if his brother was there.

To see if Chloe was sobbing in fear in the corner, babbling to herself about how the Devil had tricked her into being his friend.

To see if Maze was going to hold him down and whisper tortures in his ear as his mind fell apart.

To see if Eve was holding her son close to her chest as he bled, accusation in her face and hatred in every line of her body.

He felt a hand close around his shoulder, and he crumpled to his knees, pitching forward and hitting his head against the doors.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay! You’re okay! We’re here, on Earth. Nothing’s happening, you’re fine.”

He heard her from very far away, the words barely scraping at his consciousness.

The doors didn’t open.

“Can you take some breaths?”

Chloe. It was Chloe, and she wanted him to breathe.

She shouldn’t want him to breathe.

If he breathed, he would still be alive, and she would have failed to send him back, and she would be upset.

She would be angry.

She would try to hurt him, again.

“Lucifer, I promise, it’s okay. Someone just called the elevator down, it’s coming.”

He felt his heart thudding against his ribs. Everything hurt. He felt the phantom blows and burns and cold against his skin, felt his brother’s hot blood soaking his arm, felt the agony of watching him fall.

The doors spread apart, and he toppled through, catching himself on his hands as he lost support.

He gagged back vomit, sensation returning to his limbs as his heart beat thankful patters in his chest.

“There we go,” Chloe said, so softly he could cry, “see? Nothing to worry about. We’re fine.”

“S-sorry,” he stammered, pulling himself up against the open door, violent shivers coursing through his body.

“It’s fine, babe,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his chest. He tensed slightly, and then practically fell into her as he relaxed, the terror seeping out of him.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, more clearly, his voice weak and his pulse thready, “that was stupid.”

“No, no it wasn’t stupid,” she said gently. “You panicked. That’s not always rational.”

He buried his face in her shoulder, pulling in her scent.

“I’m... I’m going to get ready,” he said shakily, pulling away.

“Are you sure you want—”

“Yes,” he cut her off sharply. “I can work.” He needed to work. Needed to prove he was still valuable, still useful, even though he was broken. “Nothing ever... happened at the precinct. Or in any approximation of the precinct. It’ll be fine. I’m fine.”

He knew he didn’t sound as reassuring as he wanted to be. He plastered a trembling grin over his pale face, and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Besides, I have you,” he whispered.

“Yeah, you do,” she whispered back.

They were standing so close together.

He could see every tiny freckle across her cheeks. Every eyelash. Every tiny clump of mascara.

The elevator beeped in annoyance as they blocked the doors, and Chloe laughed, pulling them out of the way.

“Go on,” she said as the moment passed. “Go shower, and make yourself pretty. I know you’ve been dying to.”

“There’s nothing quite like hair product, Detective,” he chuckled weakly, running a hand through slightly sweaty, curly hair.

“I don’t know, I kind of like it messy. Makes you look younger.”

“Everything makes me look younger,” he quipped as he turned around, “my skin care routine is hardly responsible for this face after a literal eternity.”

“Yeah, come talk to me in twenty years when I’m all grey and wrinkly,” she joked back, visibly relaxing at his playfulness.

Lucifer scoffed, and took the stairs up to his bedroom and bathroom in one stride, grabbing the bag with her conditioner.

“Are you coming, Detective?” He asked, glancing back at her from the top of the stairs. He hadn’t showered without her yet, and he didn’t want to start.

“Of course I am,” she smiled her soft, perfect smile, and followed.

* * *

Chloe had been ready for fifteen minutes before she got bored and went back to Lucifer’s room to find him.

“Hey, come on, we’re going to be late,” she tutted as she climbed up the steps, “why aren’t you dressed?”

“I just _don’t know_!”

His voice was harsh, but she could see something unraveling inside him, his eyes wide with anxiety.

Her heart sank.

She’d thought their shower had calmed him down, that he’d felt better. But he opened his mouth, and a jumble of anxiety ridden words spilled out.

“Your pupils always dilate when I wear grey and pastels. Maze likes me in red and black. The urchin likes the shoes with red soles, but I left those in Hell and I can’t tell her that because she’ll be worried if I mention it. Janice, the receptionist? I remind her of her brother when I wear waistcoats, and she likes that, but Daniel clearly thinks they’re preposterous. My dancers get more tips when I play in shirt sleeves. Doctor Linda always touches her hair more when I wear heather grey over black, but Miss Lopez always hugs me tighter in navy blue. How in _Dad’s name_ am I supposed to _choose_?”

Chloe took a deep breath at that mountain of information and looked more closely at him. His eyes were red rimmed. His hair wasn’t done yet, still cooling from the flat iron before he’d put product in it.

And he stood in the middle of his bedroom in his underwear, looking like he was about to cry over what color shirt to wear. He certainly looked on the verge of his second panic attack of the day. He was breathing heavily, almost panting.

“Babe... it’s only clothes...”

“It is _not_!” He roared, “I have to _choose_ , otherwise I can’t go to work! And I have to choose _right_ , or everyone will know I couldn’t _decide_!” He was actually hyperventilating now, gripping the sides of his hair and tugging painfully.

Chloe had no idea what to do.

“Do you want me to choose for you?” She asked warily. Suddenly, he went absolutely still, frozen in place with his hands buried in his hair. He turned very slowly to look at her, sweat visible on his bare, heaving chest.

His eyes were ablaze with Hellfire, defiance and anger inexplicably mixed with confusion and shame.

His body tensed as though he was going into battle, ready to fight her and her suggestions.

“Choose _for_ me?” He croaked.

“Yeah. If it’s hard. You don’t have to choose.” Chloe held her breath, hoping desperately that this was the right thing to offer.

There was silence.

“Y-yes,” he breathed, “please.”

Slowly, Chloe walked past him, into his closet. She took in the rows of perfectly organized suits, sorted by color and brand, and picked out something black. She turned to the wall of shirts, a muted rainbow in perfect gradient, and chose one of her favorites, a dark purple silk with barely visible swirling patterns in the thread.

She wandered over to the other side of the impossibly large closet and found a display case of pocket squares. She transferred a matching purple one into her hand, careful not to bend the perfectly folded creases.

A prickle of anxiety stabbed her own chest as she gathered his clothes. What was she _doing_?

She kept her own wardrobe full of interchangeable, sensible, grey scale and beige items, specifically chosen because they were easy to mix and match, and wouldn’t draw attention.

Was she picking dark colors for him because that was all she knew how to choose, or because she thought he’d want to wear them?

Chloe shook her head. The whole point of her choosing was to _lower_ the stress in the room, not add to it. She steeled herself, grabbed a belt and a pair of black socks, and re-emerged into his bedroom.

Careful not to crease anything, Chloe laid out the clothes at the foot of his bed, waiting for him to pronounce judgement.

He stood, his hands at his sides now, in the middle of the room. Chloe reached out and took his hand, landing a soft kiss on his knuckles. He looked completely lost.

She guided him over to the bed and sat him down, never letting their hands part.

“Want to talk about it?” She offered.

“I...” his voice sounded hoarse, as though he’d been screaming.

Suddenly, he let himself flop backwards onto the bed, his feet still on the floor, and pressed his knuckles into his eye sockets.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she lay down next to him, avoiding crumpling the suit.

“I never wanted to be in charge of anything,” he mumbled. “I didn’t want to be king.”

“I know you didn’t,” she lay her hand on his chest, feeling his breaths still coming fast.

The entire time she had known him, he had been resolutely quick to deny responsibility for anyone else’s actions. He wasn’t a leader, even if his particular charms made people want to follow him.

“I just wanted to be free,” he pressed his hands harder into his eyes. “Ruling isn’t freedom. Making everyone’s decisions... all the time...” he let out a harsh, stuttering breath. Chloe’s heart clenched at the slight tremors running through his taught muscles.

“Being in charge is hard,” she laid her head next to his chest and let her hand glide up and down his sternum.

He nodded jerkily, taking his hands away from his face and wrapping an arm almost possessively around her.

“They all have so many desires. It’s so... loud, and exhausting.” His voice broke. “I’m so tired.”

“I mean it, you know? If it’s tough right now, I can make some of the dumb choices for you, until you feel better about it. I don’t want to make big decisions, that wouldn’t be fair on you, but I can help with the little things.”

“I think... I think I’d like that,” he said hesitantly.

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” she kissed his chest.

“Chloe, you have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered, rolling onto his side and looking at her with those huge brown eyes, dark with his own desires, the confusion and anxiety lifted somewhat.

“Do you trust me?” she reached up to stroke the stubble on his jaw.

“With my entire soul,” he breathed.

* * *

He followed her out of the bedroom towards the elevator, but he stopped short of following through the doors.

Slowly, he turned, looking longingly at the piano.

“I... I know we’re going to be late...” he said tentatively, “but maybe we could stay just five more minutes?”

“Lucifer, I really need to get to work, I’m sorry,” she touched his arm, trying to direct him into the elevator.

“I promise, I’ll only be a minute,” he raised his eyebrows in a look that reminded her fondly of Trixie a few years before, begging for chocolate cake. She sighed and gave in.

“Okay, fine. Just a minute, alright?”

He grinned, nodding wildly. He covered the ground to the piano in three quick strides and lay a hand gently down on the top, taking in a deep breath full of the smell of music.

Gently, reverently, he sat down on the bench and silently stroked a single finger along the keys. He rested his hands on the keyboard without playing, and closed his eyes, raising his eyebrows in relaxed satisfaction.

Slowly, almost unconsciously, he pitched forward and rested his forehead on the instrument, his hair virtually the same shade as the dark wood.

Chloe felt the ghost of him leaning into her exactly like that, touching foreheads and sharing air. It was almost sacrilegious, how he let his pale face rest so close to the instrument, his perfect features smushing slightly against the wood.

He let out a deep breath that fogged on the polished surface, and unconsciously rubbed a thumb in a circle around a key.

Chloe drank him in. He seemed so much more solemn with the piano, a reuniting of millennia old friends.

She saw, in her mind’s eye, all those occasions she’d watched him play. All the emotions that had slipped through his walls to show on his face as his soul drowned in the music.

She shivered slightly, remembering the dark, cold, echoing silence of Hell. She wondered if it was even possible to have music there. She didn’t think she could bear to ask. She didn’t want to know how long he had festered in that aching, stifling quiet.

She didn’t want to know if he’d ever tried to bring an instrument down from Earth. She didn’t want to think of strings and keys clogging with ash, sound distorting cruelly in the pulsating air.

She didn’t want to think of him, crushed under the weight of never being able to play.

She jumped slightly when he pressed down on the key, a pure sound ringing out through the room.

Lucifer let out a shaking half sob that was almost a laugh, and pressed the key again, reveling in his power to draw sound from the instrument. He took a deep, steadying breath and brought both hands to rest on the keyboard, a smile spreading quickly across his face.

Suddenly, the room was full of music, unfathomably quick fingers blurring over the keys. Chloe knew the piece, from old talent shows and television auditions. It sounded like bees zooming wildly around them, and his entire body swayed up the keyboard before jerking down to the bottom, a deeper echo of the quick, lilting refrain.

Chloe barely breathed through the entire piece, staring wide eyed at his long fingers as they danced with the piano.

His hands sprung off the keyboard after the last chord and he let out a whoop of laughter, turning to grin uncontrollably at her, completely and fully in his element.

“Well damn,” she tried to sound flippant and failed, “you can play.”

“Too right,” he pushed his tongue into the inside of his cheek, bulging it teasingly. “You should hear the impressive stuff.”

Chloe longed to stay and listen for hours. Days. Weeks, if they could. But work called to her, her mind already trying to plan out their day.

“We’ll come back,” she wrapped her arm across his shoulders, squeezing lightly, “I can’t wait to hear something impressive, if that wasn’t. But we really need to get to the precinct.”

Lucifer smiled wider and pushed a loose strand of hair back into its correct position across his head.

“You got it, partner,” he said in his ridiculous imitation of an American accent. He gave the piano a last, affectionate stroke, and closed the lid with a half sigh.

“We’ll come back,” she said softly. “I promise.”

“Of course, Detective,” he stroked the piano again and looked around the penthouse as though he didn’t quite believe her.

* * *

Chloe couldn’t concentrate.

She’d tried paperwork, she’d tried research, she’d tried reading up on what she’d missed on Friday. But she couldn’t focus on anything other than her partner and the increasingly worrying tension in his frame.

His back didn’t touch the chair, sitting upright and eerily focused, every inch of him on high alert.

Chloe was a good detective. She was good with victims. She needed none of those skills to recognize Lucifer’s behavior.

His eyes flicked from person to person, cataloging their threat level, preparing to attack and defend every time someone came within ten feet. She saw the ticking of his jaw as he categorized and dismissed each armed officer in the room, noticed how he’d started again, reevaluating starting from next to Ella’s lab and sweeping in an arc over to Dan’s old desk before turning in the chair to see behind them.

She wondered if it was a good idea to have him sit where he couldn’t see the whole room. Where there were dozens of people behind him at any time.

He tapped his fingers incessantly on the desk, a thrumming pattern that never faltered.

He’d barely spoken since they’d entered the precinct.

He hadn’t spoken at all since they’d sat down at her desk.

It was unnerving.

This had been a bad idea.

He wasn’t ready to be around so many people.

Three days ago, he’d been practically comatose, completely unresponsive, panicking at every movement and sound.

Just that morning, he’d had two separate panic attacks.

How could she have thought this was a good idea?

“Hey, Lucifer?” She said softly, reaching for his hand and stilling his tapping fingers. He flinched, yanking his hand to his chest with what was almost a growl. Chloe forced herself not to react, not in fear or sympathy. “Can you do me a favor?”

“No.” He snapped. Chloe frowned. That hadn’t been what she was expecting.

“No?”

“No. If you require a service of me, I will oblige. I will not have you reciprocate.”

He sounded formal, stilted, and his eyes still flicked around the room, moving from person to person for the dozenth time.

“Oh,” she said dumbly. Favors weren’t free, for him. “Okay. I was wondering if you could go grab me a box from evidence?”

Help the victim focus on a task. Give them something to do, so they’re not just sitting there, thinking. Chloe remembered her Victim Relations training well.

She didn’t want to keep calling him a victim, in her head.

“Of course,” he said immediately. Chloe felt a tiny portion of tension release from her own shoulders.

“Great. It’ll be in evidence room three. The Owen’s files.”

“Alright, Detective,” he acquiesced much more easily than she’d been expecting. “I’ll... I’ll get coffee, too,” he nodded firmly, clearly quietly pleased with the idea, with the familiarity of it.

“I’d love that. Thank you, Lucifer.”

“Of course.” His eyes flicked to her for a moment before continuing his surveillance. He stood up slowly, unwilling to leave her unprotected.

“I’ll be here,” she promised, “nothing’s gonna happen.”

He nodded once, eyes searing into her, evaluating her sincerity. Without another word, he turned away, long strides efficiently covering the ground to the stairs leading down to evidence.

Chloe sighed as he went down out of sight, resting her head in her hands. She hadn’t quite realized how much tension he was projecting out until it stopped. This had been a bad idea.

* * *

Dan flipped casually through the file he was holding as he walked back towards his desk. Evan from Evidence tipped his chin at him in greeting, and Dan smiled back, eyes dropping immediately back to the paperwork.

As he walked away from the evidence rooms, something made him stop. He couldn’t quite identify it. It was a weird feeling, deep in his chest, a sudden anxiety that hadn’t been present before. Anxiety that didn’t feel like his. He knew what his own felt like. Knew what it was to slump to the floor in tears over a waffle maker, heart constricting until he couldn’t breathe.

He took a step backwards along the corridor, and heard a low, quiet sound. Almost a whimper.

His eyebrows raised. Who would be _whimpering_ in a police department? There shouldn’t even be anyone back here. Concern rising, Dan went to the nearest door, one of the evidence rooms, and put his ear against the metal.

He heard it again, a small, shaky whimper from inside the room, followed by low words he couldn’t make out. Almost like begging.

Dan tried the handle and realized the door was locked. That wasn’t good. Those doors didn’t have locks on the inside. Whoever was in the room wouldn’t be able to get out.

Quickly, trepidation building in his chest to match the anxiety that wasn’t his, Dan punched in the code, and swung the door open.

His mouth fell open in shock.

Bathed in the red emergency lighting, a few feet from the door, wedged on the ground between two shelves, trying to make himself as small as possible, was Lucifer _bloody_ Morningstar.

Dan took a moment to prop the door open, and then stared at the other man, trying to work out what to do.

The more he looked, the stronger the anxiety grew. Lucifer was shaking, violent tremors forcing themselves through each muscle. His knees were drawn up close to his chest, his arms wrapped impossibly tightly around them, his face buried in the tiny gap. His hair was completely wrecked, sweaty curls sticking up in all directions, and he was rocking himself backwards and forwards, hitting his back softly against the wall over and over.

Dan pulled himself together and skidded to kneel beside the man he’d thought for a while was his worst enemy, taking in his shuddering breaths, the force with which he dug his nails into his ribs, and, now he was close enough to hear, the words tumbling out of his mouth in desperate repeat.

“I’m sorry, please, _please_ let me out. I promise I’ll be good. Please, I’m _sorry_.”

Dan’s heart sank. What the hell kind of shitty childhood did he have? Where the fuck had he been for two months that led him to fall completely apart in a locked room?

Dan had no idea what to do.

“Lucifer?” He tried, barely louder than Lucifer’s whispered chanting.

He didn’t respond, like Dan hadn’t even spoken.

“Lucifer, are you okay?” He tried again, a little louder. It made absolutely no difference.

Dan reached out and put a hand on his shin. Immediately, Lucifer tensed, his head springing up to stare wildly at his assailant. For a moment, in the dim glow of the emergency lighting, Dan thought he saw Lucifer’s eyes burn red.

The next second, the fire was gone, and Lucifer, apparently completely unaware of his surroundings, seeing something other than Dan, smashed his head backwards into the wall.

The crack echoed off the evidence shelves, and Dan yelped in surprise and shock. He saw Lucifer bring his head forward, ready to smack back again, and Dan reached out for him instinctively, not even knowing what he was planning to do.

Without quite meaning to, reverting back to long summers with Abuela Espinoza, Dan grabbed Lucifer’s ear, pinching the lobe hard between his thumb and the side of his forefinger.

Lucifer tried to pull away, recoiling from the attack, pure terror flashing across his face. Dan yanked roughly on his ear, trying to fight the absolute panic that wasn’t his as it roared through his veins.

“Tell me five things you can see,” Dan ordered, pulling on techniques Linda had taught him to calm his feelings, trying to orient the other man to the room. “List them. Now.”

Lucifer growled, almost inhuman, and Dan could have _sworn_ his eyes went red. Fear bubbled inside him and he shoved it down.

“Five things you can see,” he repeated harshly, “now!”

“Sh-shelves,” Lucifer grunted, trying, unsuccessfully, to pull away from Dan’s crushing grip on his ear. “Ceiling tiles.” His eyes seemed to focus slightly on the room behind Dan’s shoulder. “Boxes.” The terror receded a little, replaced by embarrassment as he looked up to the ceiling, trying to avoid looking straight at Dan. “Broken florescent lightbulb,” he relaxed his arms from around his legs and chest, some of the tension leaving his body, “and a Detective Douche.”

“Good,” Dan released him, resting back uncomfortably on his heels. “You okay?”

“Nearly ripped my damned ear off,” Lucifer grumbled, rubbing at it.

“Yeah, well you were about to whack your head against the wall,” Dan shot back.

Lucifer scowled.

Dan waited for a moment in silence, itching to ask what the hell that had been about.

After a few seconds of awkward quiet, Lucifer huffed out a laugh that sounded closer to a sob, and ran his hands roughly down his face, like he was trying to scrub out whatever memory or fear he’d been fighting. Something in Dan twisted, suddenly feeling unbearably awkward as he watched the other man try to pull himself back together.

“Look, I... I know we’re not really... friends... anymore—” Dan started, but Lucifer pulled his hands away from his face and looked up, cocking his head to one side.

“You considered us friends?”

“I mean? Yeah, I guess? Didn’t you?”

“I’m not sure I truly considered anyone my friend,” Lucifer admitted with a shrug, and Dan felt the twist in his chest tighten.

“Well, I think we were friends,” he said firmly. “And if you, you know, need anything? I’m here, I guess.”

“I...” Lucifer cocked his head to the other side, his eyes searing into Dan’s, seeking something. “Thank you, Daniel. I’ll bear that in mind.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Dan stood up and awkwardly brushed down his knees, giving Lucifer space to stand. He unfurled himself from between the shelves, one hand gripping a shelf for leverage, and straightened to his slightly imposing height. He looked rumpled, his suit lines askew, his hair messy and a little curly over his forehead. His eyes were dark and red rimmed. Dan felt sympathy squirming in his stomach.

“Look, don’t... don’t tell the Detective. Please? I don’t want her to think... I _am_ ready to come back to work. I _am_.” Lucifer set his jaw, clenching his teeth with the effort of manufacturing confidence.

“Yeah, man, I can do that. I won’t say anything.”

“Thank you, Daniel.” He kept eye contact slightly longer than necessary, as though he was trying to thank Dan for more than just keeping quiet.

“It’s alright.”

Lucifer scanned the shelf next to him and picked up a small evidence box, tucking it under his arm. He turned to leave, brushing dust off his clothes, running a shaky hand through his hair to rearrange it in a slightly disheveled version of its normal style.

Dan watched him straighten his spine, refitting the millionaire playboy mask and plastering on a smirk.

They nodded to each other, and Lucifer went to the door. Turned away from Dan, he paused, the set of his shoulders drooping slightly.

Dan held his breath.

“Locks aren’t normally a problem, for me.” Lucifer admitted quietly, his hand on the door. “I heard the door shut, but I... I convinced myself I was only here for a minute, just to grab the box.”

“You didn’t realize they don’t open from the inside?” Dan winced in sympathy.

“I... I don’t... I don’t much like being locked in,” Lucifer whispered. Without waiting for a response, he left the room, making sure not to allow the door to close behind him, but making it perfectly clear that Dan wasn’t supposed to follow him immediately.

Dan waited, looking forlornly down at the small gap between the shelves where Lucifer had wedged himself.

The tiny, pained begging echoed in his head. _I’m sorry. Please let me out. I promise I’ll be good._ Dan shook his head in pitying disgust. Someone, whether just in the last couple of months, or years ago, had punished Lucifer with locked doors. Had _hurt_ him. Had made him beg.

Dan clenched his fists. He’d seen worse, as a homicide detective. But men like Lucifer didn’t cower on the ground begging without something truly awful to terrify them.

Dan seethed as he left the room, shutting the door behind him.

It took a long time, sitting at his desk and watching Chloe and Lucifer at theirs, for him to unclench his fists.


	7. Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The light is mine,” he whispered into her hair, tracing constellations with his eyes, “stars and fire. You lot made lightbulbs though. I didn’t see that coming. Damned smart of you.”
> 
> “Electricity isn’t... yours?” she asked, still a little caught up on the fact that he just claimed ownership of _light_.
> 
> “No. Forces and energies are more Michael’s thing than mine. He likes gravity best.”
> 
> Chloe nodded, and they fell in to comfortable silence, staring up at the stars.
> 
> “Tell me about them?” Chloe asked, squeezing him gently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I am so sorry. The world has been crazy the last couple of weeks, and I realized that the first like... 2000 words of this chapter hadn't been written, so I had to scrape them together a little bit.  
> It's probably something I'll come back to fix, but I wanted to get the other 5000 words to you as soon as possible, because they are deliciously angsty.  
> Sorry for the delay, and I hope you enjoy this extra long chapter.

By the time they left the precinct, Lucifer was just _done_.

The entire day had been a painful emotional rollercoaster, and he wasn’t used to feeling so uselessly on edge. Usually, the vigilance and the constant awareness of every movement in his surroundings served him well, protecting him from attack and giving him warning for the possibility of ambush or sudden pain.

But he wasn’t in Hell anymore, and his finely tuned danger radar was firing pointlessly at nothing. He didn’t even have anything to fear here if someone did attack. He was infinitely stronger than anyone in the vicinity other than Maze and Amenadiel, and he hadn’t seen either since they’d been at Chloe’s home.

So it was with frustrated exhaustion, and a little desperation to feel anything other than the simmering panic that had dogged him all day, that he suggested that they took a picnic out of the city to stargaze.

“Yes! That would be amazing,” Chloe grinned as they stepped out of the car outside her house. “We can just make some food right now and get out of here.”

Lucifer felt his chest loosen in relief, following her through the door. She headed straight into the kitchen, and he made a beeline for the stairs.

It was one thing to wear a suit to the precinct, and another to wear it into the desert.

He carefully stripped out of the confining fabric and let his skin breathe for a moment before replacing it with his jeans, t-shirt and sweater, relishing in the loose cotton and soft lines as his skin relaxed.

He ran a few fingers of product through his hair, shaping it back in to line, and headed back downstairs barely five minutes later.

Chloe was chopping vegetables, her sleeves rolled up as she went about her task, her phone trapped between her ear and her shoulder as she called off work the next day so they could stay out as late as they wanted.

It took Lucifer’s breath away.

“Can you do pasta and some sauce?” She smiled gently at him, putting the phone down. He unfroze from the delight of watching her work and smiled back, moving in behind her to reach up for the pasta.

They worked in quiet tandem, moving perfectly in sync with each other as they prepared their meal.

Lucifer snapped the lids closed on two of Chloe’s insulated lunch boxes, trapping in the warmth, while Chloe did some perfunctory washing up, leaving the dishes in the sink.

He watched her as she packed up pillows and blankets, leaving his feathery blanket on the couch so it wouldn’t pick up any dirt, and then placed a balancing hand on the small of her back as she wriggled her feet into shoes.

Her skin was warm under her shirt, her hip cushioned perfectly, her smile teetering just on the edge of teasing as she turned to brush a hand over his chest.

His head span a little as her fingers grazed the neckline of his sweater, their skin brushing lightly together, tiny jolts of lightning sparking across the gap.

It was delicious.

They didn’t say a word as they left the house, locking up behind them, and got back into the car.

They didn’t need to talk.

Lucifer felt a burst of eagerness as he closed the car door. They were going to stargaze. Going to see his inventions. His children.

As they drove, Chloe talked.

She seemed to realize that he was simply out of energy to hold up his side of the conversation, and he was indescribably grateful not to be left in silence.

She told him inconsequential things, little stories from her childhood, old jokes between her acting friends, funny escapades she and her first boyfriend had had.

She told him about going to the theater with her father for the first time. How she’d watched the dancers and the actors blend perfectly into their roles, becoming completely different people. She told him how much she’d wanted to do the same, how much she’d admired them all.

She told him how her mother had taken her to acting classes as soon as she’d expressed the interest. How she’d loved learning, loved memorizing passages from plays and choreographing every movement on the stage.

She told him how quickly enjoying being on stages had devolved into endless auditions for movie roles, how she’d been in dozens of commercials as a child, how it had all got progressively harder and less interesting as her mother had pushed her away from the theater and towards the screen.

She told him how her father had always taken her to shows on his days off, how he’d snuck her out of school one afternoon to see an outdoor performance of The Tempest, and how she’d felt the world of possibility open up again.

She told him about getting the role in Hot Tub High School, the first big movie she’d been offered, and how desperately nervous she’d been. How she hadn’t really wanted to do the topless scenes, but how her mother had told her it was vital for her career.

She told him that her dad had been guarded about it, how she’d overheard her parents arguing the day she signed the contract.

She told him how he’d died three days before the premiere, and how she’d punched a camera at his funeral.

She shook her head and wiped a single tear off her cheek with her thumb, and launched into sweet stories about Trixie as a baby, about how she’d been expelled from day care for biting a boy who’d stolen her friend’s teddy bear.

About how she and Dan had laughed so hard about it once she was in bed.

Lucifer soaked it all in. She’d never told him this much, never gone into so many details about her past.

He felt the warmth spread through him, fighting off the tendrils of the icy chill he’d felt since Hell.

It was revolutionary.

He gazed at her as she drove, the last rays of sunlight streaming through her hair. She was absolutely radiant.

They drove for a while, veering off down increasingly smaller roads, until the world outside the car was dark and still.

Eventually, Chloe pulled off the road into a dusty parking lot on the edge of the national park. She didn’t hesitate to throw open her door and step out into the warm night, stretching her arms above her head to stretch.

Lucifer followed, cracking his own shoulders.

It was colder outside of the city, and he repressed a shiver as it rolled through his muscles.

He didn’t look up at the sky. He wanted to wait for that moment until they were prepared.

Between them, they gathered up their blankets and food from the trunk, and walked in silence away from the car.

“Here looks good,” Chloe said quietly a few minutes later, gesturing to a little sand bank next to a patch of half dry grass. Lucifer nodded, and flicked out a blanket to cover the space.

Chloe fiddled around with their things for a moment before lying down on the blanket.

“Are you ready?” She smiled gently up at him. Lucifer nodded and took a breath before joining her. He closed his eyes and moved his face to look up at the sky.

It had been a few months even before he went to Hell since he’d gone out of the city to look at his creations. A little spike of anxiety stabbed at his heart as he prepared to open his eyes.

Chloe put an arm under his head, pulling him closer to her side, and he went willingly.

He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the clean night air, and opened his eyes.

It took a second for his eyes to adjust as he looked into the inky blackness.

And then the sky lit up with hundreds of dots of fire.

Lucifer felt his breath hitch.

He stared up at the stars, all perfectly placed in the formations he’d designed, burning and drifting as he had intended.

His hand fisted into Chloe’s shirt, trying to contain the overwhelming feelings bursting through his chest. He felt his divinity surge forward, like it was trying to reconnect with his creations.

“They’re amazing, Luce,” she whispered into the hush.

He heard the worship in her tone. The awe.

He nodded slightly, unable to formulate the longing and amazement and contentment and bliss of seeing his creations, unchanged from the last time he’d looked at a clear night sky.

It was beautiful.

“The light is mine,” he whispered into her hair, “stars and fire.”

“Light-Bringer,” she whispered back. “That was your name?”

He nodded slowly, pushing a little closer to her, the lines of their bodies touching all the way down to their feet.

He repeated his own name in Enochian, feeling the long forgotten syllables roll off his tongue. It had been untold eons since anyone had said his name in his own language.

He had spent the first few millennia in Hell trying to forget it. Trying to banish that part of himself from his own mind, just as he had been banished from his home.

But then there had been a day where his own name hadn’t come to him when he thought of it. When it had taken several horror struck moments to remember the patterns his mouth had to make to form the word.

He’d repeated it to himself every few hours for years, then, terrified that he would truly forget.

Terrified to leave the last part of himself that he could be proud of behind forever.

Terrified to forget the only part of himself his father had ever loved.

He shivered, and Chloe’s fingers tightened a little around his shoulder.

“You lot made lightbulbs though,” he changed the topic, tracing constellations with his eyes. “I didn’t see that coming. Damned smart of you.”

“Electricity isn’t... yours?” she asked, still a little caught up on the fact that he just claimed ownership of _light_.

“No. Forces and energies are more Michael’s thing than mine. He likes gravity best.”

Chloe nodded, and they fell in to comfortable silence, staring up at the stars.

“Tell me about them?” Chloe asked, squeezing him gently.

Slowly, Lucifer started to talk. He took hold of her hand, and pointed out stars for her, mapping the original designs he’d made, pointing out where they’d shifted apart in the billions of years since he’d released them into the sky.

He talked about the heat between his palms, the indescribable power, the absolute beauty of his creations.

He told her about his first tries, small, cold spheres that barely lit the darkness around them, quick to float apart.

He told her about dancing through space, sometimes alone with his stars, sometimes accompanied by playful brothers, chasing each other through the universe.

* * *

Chloe propped herself up a little so she could have a clearer view of his face. He looked soft. Like the sweet memories had lifted years of anger and solitude off his shoulders.

It wasn’t hard to imagine him, young, free and unburdened as he lit the skies, massive white wings carrying him through slip streams and the empty vacuum of space, defiant of even physics.

She pushed aside the sadness that that angel was only a memory, and let her heart swell with pride at how far he’d come already, if he was willing to talk about his distant past at all.

She listened as he told her stories, and watched his face, and watched the stars, and kept her hand on him.

It was beautiful.

* * *

“Damn, Lucifer, this is so good!” Chloe wiped a little pesto from the corner of her mouth, grinning almost obscenely at him over the still warm pasta.

“Already damned, darling,” he smirked, twirling his own spaghetti around his fork and transferring it cleanly to his mouth. Chloe blushed slightly. He could make literally anything look seductive, but the sight of him swirling his tongue around his fork to get the last trace of perfection off the metal was... ridiculous.

“Well, you cook like that all the time, and you can stay as long as you want,” she joked.

“Thank you, Detective,” he said quietly, a smile tugging at his mouth.

There was a weight to his gaze that seemed disproportionate, and his spine straightened infinitesimally, like something had clicked into place. Chloe smiled back, shrugging off his slightly odd reaction.

At almost two in the morning, they packed up their pillows and blankets, and trudged back to the car.

Chloe insisted on driving, and Lucifer was asleep within seconds of his relaxing into the headrest.

* * *

Chloe woke up to the smell of bacon and toast wafting upstairs.

She took a moment to relax back into the sheets, breathing in the slowly cooling warmth of Lucifer’s recently absent body.

Slowly, she pulled herself out of bed, her back a little sore from so many hours driving and lying on the ground, and made her way downstairs, following the smell and the wonderful sound of Lucifer humming softly.

“Good morning,” she came up behind him, not quite closing the gap between them, waiting for him to lean in to her.

She was rewarded a moment later, and he turned to face her, smile spreading across his face.

“Good morning, Detective,” he pressed a kiss to her forehead, and she grinned up, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“That smells delicious,” she took the spatula from him. “Let me finish it all up, yeah? You still look tired.”

“You... you want to make _me_ breakfast?” he asked hesitantly, bewilderment flashing over his face and wiping out the smile.

“Yeah,” she grinned, pushing gently past him, “I’ll be fine.”

“Can I... clean up? Or chop vegetables? Or... or...”

“Why don’t you just go take a break? It’ll only take half an hour or so.”

“But...”

“It’s fine, Lucifer. I want to do it.”

“Oh,” he said quietly, his teeth just brushing short of biting his lip. He stood there for a moment, on the verge of speaking. “Does... does this mean... I... I’ll sleep at the penthouse tonight.”

“What?”

“It’s quite alright, Detective, I know I’ve intruded too long,” he went to turn away and she grabbed his arm, releasing him instantly as he whipped around.

“Why does me making breakfast mean you want to go back to Lux?” she frowned, and he echoed her expression, confusion flooding his dark eyes.

“Well, that’s the deal, is it not?”

“Deal? We don’t have a deal,” she felt as confused as he looked.

“I... must have been mistaken, then,” he said quietly, “I’ll just... I’ll just go.”

“No, don’t go!” A moment of panic seized her at the idea of him leaving. “What’s happening here?”

“You... you said it,” he hunched his shoulders slightly, not looking at her anymore. “You made the deal, last night!”

“I’m sorry, I need you to explain. I don’t remember making a deal.”

“You... you told me I could stay as long as I wanted, if I made food like that every meal,” his entire stance had gone defensive, “so I did. But if you don’t want—”

“Lucifer! That’s not— no! You can stay as long as you want. You don’t have to... to earn it!”

“But... then you have done me a favor, and I haven’t given anything in return,” he looked desperately uncomfortable, his eyes flicking wildly between Chloe, the floor, and the door.

“You have,” she said simply. “I let you stay here as long as you want. You let me hang out with you. You being here _is_ return on the favor of me letting you be here.”

“But... _what_?” Chloe almost wanted to laugh at the complete bewilderment on his face, and she would have, if it wasn’t so deeply sad that he couldn’t see those two things as equally valuable.

“Did you forget to remember that I _want_ you to be here? I don’t need you, Lucifer, I’m choosing to ask you to stay.”

“I... I don’t...” his entire forehead creased in confusion, and Chloe felt an overwhelming rush of need to make it better. To make him understand just how much she wanted him.

Without a word, she took his hand, looking up into his face and putting effort into broadcasting the love and want and need on her face as clearly as she could.

With a silent widening of his eyes as he realized just what was happening, he allowed himself to be led upstairs, their fingers laced together.

* * *

Lucifer felt the swirl of nervousness grow in his stomach as they entered the bedroom. His hands fluttered a little at his sides, his fingers rubbing convulsively across his thumb pads. He couldn’t stop swallowing, over and over, until his mouth was so dry it was almost painful.

He shouldn’t be feeling this way.

Everything had been going so well. They’d stargazed. They’d shared stories. They’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms.

But then he’d screwed up. Insulted her, or made her sad. He didn’t fully understand what had happened.

And then she’d led him upstairs.

“Come here, babe,” Chloe summoned him, sitting on the bed. Slowly, he came to her and sat by her side. She felt a tremor run through him, and felt him stiffen up to stifle it. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he insisted past the lump in his throat.

“Okay,” she ran her hand down his back and he flinched away, as bad as he’d done the first night he’d come back. She moved her hand to his shoulders, avoiding the scars, and rubbed gently.

“I...” he stopped, biting down hard on the inside of his lip. What was _happening_? He was finally, finally being offered the opportunity he’d been waiting for for years, and his entire body was screaming against it.

“What?” Chloe frowned, pulling her hand away.

“I don’t... I don’t want...”

Her face fell, and he saw the disappointment quickly disguised behind confusion.

“You don’t want _what_ , exactly?”

“I just...”

“You don’t want to do this? You don’t want to sleep with me?” Chloe wrapped her arms around her chest, suddenly embarrassed.

“No, no, I do! I just... I just...” he couldn’t find the words. His mouth was too dry, his palms dampening, his heart beating too fast. Her hand found his back again and all he could feel was demon claws, and iron clenching his wrists. He jerked away, standing up.

“Tell me what’s happening, Lucifer,” she sounded on the edge of being mad, and he couldn’t blame her. He’d been asking for this the whole time they’d known each other. He’d made thousands of innuendos, thousands of suggestive comments. Begged for it. Needed it.

His eyes darted to the closed door, knowing it was to give them privacy, not to trap him in. He smelled the iron and sulfur in the back of his nose, overpowering her perfume and his cologne.

He clenched his fists and shook his head, trying to rid himself of the stupid thoughts swirling inside it.

“Lucifer,” she snapped. His eyes slammed shut. Of course this would be what broke her. Of course this was the end. Of course she wouldn’t want him, if he couldn’t do what he did best. If he couldn’t fulfill her desire.

“Darling, I’m sorry,” he croaked, “I...”

Chloe felt her face contort into an unwelcome snarl. Why was he doing this now? Was it some kind of power play? To tease her up into wanting him again, when she’d tried so hard to stop, only to deny her? Was he laughing at her, even now?

“What?” She spat, “you don’t want to have sex? You?”

He flinched away from that insinuation. He knew what she meant. Knew what she thought of him.

“Chloe... I don’t know what to say...”

“Let’s start with the truth,” she scowled, old insecurities rearing, “why don’t you want to sleep with me? Am I too boring for you? Worried I’m not going to fit in with the thousands of other people you’ve whored yourself out to?”

They both flinched at that. Lucifer’s eyes widened and he lifted his gaze from the floor to meet hers. She looked horrified.

“Babe, I didn’t mean—”

“Yes you did,” he set his jaw.

“No, I’m sorry, I’m just confused! Tell me what’s happening!”

“I don’t want to sleep with you,” he said coldly, her cruel words making his own harsher, and easier to voice. The small spark of anger was enough to push down the panic.

“Why?” She sounded small, dejected, and his heart bled for her discomfort.

“I’m not ready.”

“What do you need?”

“I... I need...” he didn’t know. But there was one way, throughout the vast majority of his unmeasurably long life, ever since the Fall, that he’d solved problems like this. One person who’d always fixed him, no matter how screwed up everything got, no matter how much he hurt, no matter what he’d done. “I need Maze.”

She stared at him, her mouth open, tears filling her eyes. She drew the blanket from the end of the bed over her lap, hiding herself from him.

“What?” She breathed.

“I need to have sex with Maze. She... she’ll fix it. She always knows how to fix me.”

“But... but I thought...”

“You want to fuck me? Want me to _whore myself out_ to you next? This is the solution.”

He could hear his voice going colder by the word, hardening himself against her tears as they welled up in the pale blue eyes he loved.

“You want to... with Maze, but not with me?”

“Shocking as it is, I find myself unwilling to do it at all,” he grimaced, “but she’ll fix it.”

“And I can’t?” Frustration won out over rejection again, and all she could see was the petulant, self-absorbed man she’d known at the start of their partnership, telling her she wasn’t good enough.

“No,” he said firmly, “you can’t.”

He didn’t want her to see how deeply broken he felt. Didn’t want her to know just how frightened the thought of sleeping with her made him. Didn’t want her to know the damage the demons had done in the cells and blame herself for it. Anger swelled in his chest. This was pathetic. He heard the edge of his words cutting into her like knives, and couldn’t stop.

Maze would be able to fix it. He didn’t quite know why he was so confident in that, but it was the only thing keeping him afloat. The only thing standing between him and the endless fall that was not being able to fulfill the Detective’s desires.

He felt the familiar heat of wrath building in his forehead, clenching his chest, pointed directly at himself. He was pathetic. He destroyed everything he touched. Always.

“I’ll go to Lux tomorrow and sort it out with Maze.”

“You’re being ridiculous!” She shouted, her feelings surging up and crashing over a barrier of anger, raising her arms in frustrated exasperation.

He flinched just a little at her raised voice, and felt the anger and panic storm inside his chest.

He had to choose anger, had to let it fill him, had to let it drive out the fear and the worry and the _panic_ , before he broke down entirely.

Rage reared it’s head, and he succumbed to it. It flooded his veins with familiar, burning heat. Rage was an old friend.

“I am not being ridiculous!” He let his voice echo slightly and slammed his hand into the wall, his eyes burning red for an uncontrolled moment.

“Don’t you _dare_ flash those at me!” She threw the blanket aside and launched to her feet, her hair falling messily from the lose bun at the back of her head.

“Then do not presume to speak on things you cannot understand,” he roared, fire flickering uncontrollably over his skin, not quite singeing away his face.

Fear and hurt froze Chloe’s mind. He looked every bit the Devil she’d been frightened enough to run to the Vatican to escape. To destroy.

“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this,” she snapped. “I don’t want to see you until you’ve calmed down enough to have a normal human conversation! Just _stay here_!” She jabbed a finger at the ground, practically seeing red with the force of the anger she was desperately clinging to. Anger was a hundred times better than the devastating rejection flooding through her veins.

“Detective!” He protested, his eyes alight with Hellfire.

She turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. He could damned well open it himself if he was so concerned about closed doors.

Chloe stumbled down the stairs, hitting the railing hard with the flat of her palm on each step. She let out a frustrated growling noise as she paced back and forth across the living room.

How could he want _Maze_ , of all people, when he’d been pining after her for _years_!

Annoyance spilled over to her clenching and unclenching fists, filling her head with pithy retorts she could have used if she’d only thought of them. She hated this! Hated the old flames of jealousy and mistrust he’d fanned in her.

It took several minutes before she had taken enough deep breaths to sit down. They needed to talk about their inability to communicate without arguing or crying. Ancient celestial or not, he was like a child. Worse than Trixie. Resorting to temper tantrums to manipulate her into letting him get away with things like wanting Maze and not _her_. And they needed to talk about whatever the _fuck_ was going through his thick head that made him want to abandon her, again!

 _She_ was the one taking care of him. _She_ was the one who’d let him live with her because he couldn’t cope with being in his own home. _She_ was the one who’d cleaned him up after Hell. _She_ was the one who’d actually gone to Hell, the first living human ever to make the trip, all to get him to come back. _She_ was the one making all the sacrifices here, all the choices, putting in all the work. She _deserved_ more.

She ran a hand across her face and grabbed the remote. What she needed right then was mindless television, a distraction from the manic, confounding bundle of irritation currently occupying her bedroom.

* * *

Four episodes of trashy TV later, he still hadn’t emerged. Well, if he wasn’t mature enough to talk properly, then she could wait. She had borne witness to enough of his tantrums and sulking, and if that’s what he chose to do with his time, then it wasn’t her problem.

Trixie came home from school, and he still wouldn’t come out. Chloe wasn’t going to be the one to break the stalemate and approach him. He would have to come to her.

Trixie did her homework without a fight, clearly sensing her mother’s annoyance.

Mother and daughter ate dinner in near silence, the empty seat next to Trixie the loudest thing in the room.

Trixie disappeared into her room to play by herself as soon as she’d finished eating, unable to stand the awkwardness of the quiet. She hated fighting. And this was different from when her parents had fought, before the divorce. Those fights had been all mean words and shouting. This was silence, and she couldn’t bear to think of Lucifer being silent. The image just couldn’t form in her head.

By the time Chloe had come in, ten minutes before bedtime, to read a short chapter of

 _A Wrinkle in Time,_ all of her anger had ebbed away into nothing, replaced by worry.

Chloe closed the book and brushed a kiss to the top of Trixie’s head.

She found herself sitting alone on the couch, and it reminded her achingly of the weeks he’d been in Hell. When she’d whiled away long, lonely evenings with cheap wine and a handful of his favorite cool ranch puffs.

She sat, and she drank her glass of wine, and she worried.

He hadn’t come downstairs in hours. He hadn’t eaten lunch or dinner, and they almost certainly weren’t going to watch the movie they’d planned to watch that evening.

She sighed deeply. It felt like every time they got somewhere meaningful, one of them would freak out, or get mad, or screw it up in some other way. She was self aware enough to know that she did it almost as often as he did, but that didn’t really diminish her frustration.

She wished she could rewind, take back the stupid things she’d said in anger. There was no way there wasn’t some kind of reason for his reluctance beyond not wanting her. He’d made it quite clear that he _did_ want her. Why had she resorted to calling him names? But he wanted to have sex with Maze. Why? What possible, possible reason could there be for him to want _Maze_ over her? Last time he’d seen Maze, he’d had a panic attack and scratched off his own skin in the shower.

Part of her just wanted to rewind all the way to how it had been, before Pierce. Back when thought she was in love with a playboy magician with a vivid fantasy world, or a tragic past, or a touch of mental illness.

But now everything was real. He was the Devil. She had tried to have him sent back to Hell by force, even though she knew he hated the place. He had almost let her marry a murderer. They’d hurt each other, over and over.

He wasn’t the narcissistic, arrogant man he had been, either. She hated herself for missing that version of him, before all the anxiety and the nightmares and the mood swings and this inexplicable desire to go to his demon bartender instead of her.

Chloe switched on the television and turned to a nature documentary almost at random. She tried to focus on the calming voiceover instead of the swirls of guilt, regret and longing in her stomach. Within minutes, in her state of anger, wine and anxiety induced exhaustion, she had dozed off to footage of sloths hanging lazily from rainforest trees.

* * *

By the time Chloe had taken Trixie to school and arrived back at her apartment, her arms full of paperwork, she was annoyed again. He’d been sulking for almost a whole day. She could just see him, in the corner of her mind, lounging on the bed, playing one of his games on his phone, waiting for her to go to him.

Well, he would be waiting a long time. She was the one with all the freedom in this fight. He was self isolating upstairs, and she could come and go as she pleased. It would be his responsibility to come to her. She’d soothed him through enough that he should come through for her on this tiny little thing.

She let out a huff of waning exasperation, trying to fight down the gnawing worry that she was overlooking something. Shoving the feeling away, she spread her files out on the table, getting started on the wrap up from her last case.

Time dragged on without his quips and random comments. Each page felt like it’s own separate battle without the distraction of watching him eat, or throwing her desk toys around, or sticking out a foot to trip her unsuspecting ex-husband.

Nothing was half as much fun without him. She’d learned that in Rome, and she’d learned it again when he’d gone back to Hell. And now, apparently, she was learning it while he played video games thirty feet away, refusing to talk to her.

Chloe startled a little at the sound of someone opening the front door.

“Hey, Decker!” Maze greeted her brashly, strolling in like she still lived there.

“Oh, um, hi Maze,” Chloe glanced up the stairs, half wishing he’d come down now, if only because it seemed weird. “What’re you doing here?”

“Come to grab some knives I left behind,” Maze shrugged, because of course that was why, “and Lucifer texted me.”

“He _sent_ you?” Chloe felt the annoyance peak again. Why couldn’t he just come downstairs and _talk_ like a normal person? Why was he talking to Maze and not to her? That was the whole problem!

“He asked me to check if you were okay,” Maze frowned, cocking her head to one side, studying Chloe’s irritated expression.

“ _I’m_ fine,” Chloe snapped. Maze stared, unnaturally still, as though she was trying to figure out something complicated.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, is there?” She stuck the tip of her tongue between her teeth, her face twisting into a smirk, “you’re not upset, you’re punishing him!”

“Huh? I’m not—”

Maze looked smug, proud to have worked out the inexplicable human emotions. She’d have to tell Linda about this, she’d be pleased with her progress.

“It’s smart, Decker. Didn’t think you had it in you. He _hates_ being alone, it’s pretty much the best torture for him. All those Daddy issues colliding. I used to do it all the time, whenever he started acting like too much of an asshole, or when he got too clingy. So, what did he do?”

“He... he didn’t...” Chloe couldn’t tell Maze what the argument had been about. It was too embarrassing, too awkward. Horror rose steadily in her throat.

“Well, it’s working,” Maze looked almost proud, leaning against the wall and looking Chloe up and down as though reassessing her opinion of her. “You got him desperate enough to text me, even though he hasn’t let me even be in the same room since I brought his stuff over. I’m proud of you. A little surprised, but proud.”

Maze stalked over to Chloe and put her arm around her, squeezing tight, her grin a little predatory, but clearly satisfied with Chloe’s performance.

Chloe could feel her heart sinking through the floor. Maze thought she was punishing him. She’d told him to stay upstairs, knowing that he would obey. And then she hadn’t gone to release him.

“I’d give it a rest now, though, if I were you,” Maze patted her shoulder. “No use breaking him down before you’ve had more fun. Always know when to stop, and they’ll come running back for more. I’m kinda surprised you let it go on this long, since he’s kind of fucked up right now. But hey, to each their own.” She shrugged against Chloe’s shoulder, “you got balls, Decker. We’ll make a torturer of you yet.”

Maze gave her a tight little side hug and went over to her old room to grab whatever weapons she’d left behind. Chloe stood by the table in appalled silence.

She’d screwed up. Misused the shocking power she had over the Devil.

Punished him, like he was always punished. Like he expected to be punished.

Fuck.

She should have known better, should have remembered that he wasn’t good at expressing his feelings, and that he was having a hard time. Shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions without hearing his side. But she’d been so angry! Felt so betrayed by being put on the back burner like she wasn’t important, like she hadn’t spent the last week helping him. Like she hadn’t spent the last two months aching for him, mind, body and soul. Like she hadn’t gone to Hell for him.

Maze saluted her as she walked out the door, a messenger bag full of weaponry clunking against her back.

Woodenly, Chloe made her way to the kitchen, resisting sprinting upstairs. She needed to think. She needed to have some kind of clarity before walking up there. She needed... she needed to bring a peace offering, like he had so often done when he’d upset her.

He would always bring her coffee, or a lemon bar, or some trinket he’d spotted for Trixie.

Chloe made her favorite sandwich, Hawaiian bread with an egg in the middle. He loved that sandwich. It was almost the only time he would make sure he got the first serving, unable to wait for each one to be made individually.

Chloe served up the food and took a deep, steadying breath. This was going to be a disaster. What was she thinking? No stupid sandwich was going to fix this, and she barely understood what was happening anyway.

“You’re catastrophizing, Chloe,” she scolded herself. She channeled Linda. Nothing was going to get better by imagining the worst things that could possibly happen. She needed to be steady, composed, controlled.

She took another deep breath and picked up the plate. No more stalling. She went up stairs, making sure to make some noise on the way, so he wouldn’t be surprised when she arrived.

She arrived at the closed door at the end of the hallway and cursed herself. She _knew_ he hated closed doors. She’d even thought it when she’d left, letting annoyance swell into uncharacteristic vindictiveness. Closed it deliberately because she knew he hated it. Worse than that. Knew he was _frightened_ of it.

Chloe knocked softly on the door and pushed it open, peaking her head into the darkened room. It smelled stale, a little like sweat and a lot like no air had circulated through in hours.

He was curled up in a tight ball in the middle of the bed, his blanket wrapped tight around him. Only the very top of his head was visible, his hair messy like he’d been raking his fingers through it.

Shit.

He didn’t move when she came up beside him. Making noise, she sat down on the edge of the bed, near his head, and touched his shoulder.

“Lucifer? I... I bought you a sandwich,” she offered hesitantly.

After a few seconds of silence, he pulled the blanket down a little, his face emerging from under the cover. He looked pale, and his eyes were a little red and swollen, his eye liner smudged, like he’d cried. Chloe’s heart stuttered. Shit, shit, _shit._

“Do you want to come downstairs?”

He looked up at her in absolute bewilderment, curling up a little tighter under his blankets.

“You... you told me to stay...” his eyes darted nervously away, landing on her hands, which still held the sandwich plate.

“I said until you were calm. I was hoping like ten minutes.”

“But... I’m never... calm...” his breath hitched and he buried his hands in the soft fabric, fisting it tightly.

Chloe closed her eyes. Calm was a high bar, for him. Even before all this, she would never have described him as calm, not even in his quieter, more vulnerable moments. And of course he took it literally. Punishment was serious business, for him.

“I know, babe. That wasn’t fair of me.”

“I tried to come down,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, “I... I had another... attack...” he motioned from his chest to his head. “That’s not calm. Not allowed.”

Chloe shuffled a little further onto the bed and pulled her legs up, sitting crosslegged beside him. She needed to be the strong one, right now. She needed to crush the hopeless, desperate desire to cry and pull him close. He’d been up here for a whole day, having panic attacks, alone, and she’d been going about her life annoyed at him for something she didn’t even fully understand. Something she’d been too mad and confused and hurt to ask about.

“I’m so sorry, Luce,” she choked back the agonizing feeling in the back of her throat, “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

He pulled the blanket back over his face with a shudder, hiding from her. Like he thought she was going to hurt him. He looked so desperately young.

“Please, can I...” his voice was muffled by the blanket, damp and rasping, “can I say sorry now?”

Chloe couldn’t help herself. The tears spilled, dribbling messily down her face.

“Come here,” she sniffed, pulling him closer, nudging his head out of the blanket and onto her lap. He stared up at her, looking impossibly like a small child, his lower lip quivering slightly, his face pale and a little tear streaked.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into her stomach, pressing his face into her.

“It’s okay, babe. We... we need to talk about this, because I don’t understand. But I forgive you. I’ll always forgive you.” He shuddered, his entire body quivering with it.

Chloe felt sick. How often had she done this to him, before? Brushed him away without letting him explain himself, not allowing him to apologize? How often had she sent him away to stew in his own misery?

They had fallen, together, into the trap his Father had laid for him, so many millennia ago. When He had thrown His son away to a lifetime of eternal, irreversible, isolating punishment. When He had offered Lucifer no chance of forgiveness. No opportunity to apologize. No opportunity to repent.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed, curling himself tight around her, burrowing his face deeper into her stomach, his blanket covered arms clinging to her. She held a handful of his hair, keeping him steady, and ran her hand up and down his spine, avoiding the scars, trying to give him the comforting contact he clearly so desperately needed.

His back arched to receive her touch, his head pushing needily at her hand, and he clutched her tighter.

“It’s okay,” she breathed shakily, “it’s okay, it’s over. I love you.”

Another shudder rippled through his body, and he let out a deep, trembling breath. She recited her words, over and over, until they blurred together into something like a litany, a prayer. She let her sorrow and her forgiveness fill her, and opened her soul to him. His breath hitched as her prayers flooded through him, and he didn’t resist.

The sandwich was cold, and Chloe’s arms quivered with the strain of holding them both upright. But they had no desire to be anywhere but here, no desire to be with anyone but each other. So they stayed.


	8. Author’s Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a note to say...

Hi friends!

I’ve decided to do a little bit of rearranging and change the previous chapter 8. I got a lot of hate for it, so I’m going through and change some stuff to accommodate more people. This whole fan fiction thing is only fun if people are enjoying reading as much as I enjoy writing, and the last chapter clearly made people upset. Which was pretty miserable from a writer’s standpoint.

So, you know, scrub the last chapter from your minds, and we’ll start again.

See you in a couple of Fridays when I decide exactly what to do to avoid the freaking death threats over the lowest impact form of creativity I’ve ever participated in.


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